


On Love and Onigiri

by MangaFreak15



Series: SakuAtsu in love [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Relationships, Bokuto Koutarou is a Good Friend, Chatting & Messaging, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hinata Shouyou is Sunshine, Humor, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mild Blood and Injury, Non-Explicit Sex, Pining Miya Atsumu, Sakusa Kiyoomi is So Done, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Social Media, Stand Alone, Thirsty Miya Atsumu, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, is it slow burn if it's only slow on one side, mostly Atsumu-centric, welcome to cliche town, why isn't that a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29350110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangaFreak15/pseuds/MangaFreak15
Summary: [Atsumu]never!!!yer my omi-omi from now on![Omi-Omi]I’m not your anything[Atsumu]but i’m the bane of yer existence right 😉[Omi-Omi]Get outIn which Miya Atsumu is a famous writer with a terrible personality and Sakusa is a book critic who hates his guts. Somehow they stumble into love anyway.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: SakuAtsu in love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169279
Comments: 24
Kudos: 365





	On Love and Onigiri

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Lunar New Year, happy early Valentine's Day, I'm in SakuAtsu hell, as you can see. Fun fact: I wrote this 20k monster one shot in 1 week.
> 
> The timeline is kinda wonky, so just pretend it's there lmao
> 
> Editing social media fics is like punishment, why did I do this to myself

**_#1 Best-Selling Author Miya Atsumu Strikes Again!_ **

_Article by: Ibaraki Shiori | 2 hours ago_

Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in-between, the best-selling author of the Black Jackals Publishing House has struck gold once more with his newest novel, _Homecoming by the Riverside._ Though Miya is well-known for writing captivating tales within the thriller and sci-fi genres, he’s outdone himself by writing a romance novel this time. And what a whirlwind of a book it is! From the memorable first line of the book to the heartwarming scene that endeared me to Gauche and Mirai’s determination to overcome obstacles to stay together despite frequent troubles in paradise, Miya’s lavish prose kept me hooked right till the very end…

**_Miya Atsumu: The Modern Genius Writer_ **

_Article by: Kunimi Akira | 5 hours ago_

Few authors can ever say that they’ve made a significant impact on the world of writing. Timeless classics such as Jane Austen’s _Pride and Prejudice,_ Murasaki Shikibu’s _The Tale of Genji,_ and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s _Sherlock Holmes_ series are just some of the titles that readers old and new enjoy today. In the 21st century, we have a rising star in Miya Atsumu, whose debut novel _We Don’t Need the Memories_ catapulted him to the top of the list of best sellers at the tender young age of 22. Since then, Miya has been on a best-selling streak to rival that of other recent newcomers such as Oikawa Tooru and Ushijima Wakatoshi, who are known for their sci-fi and historical fiction novels respectively…

**_Homecoming by the Riverside: A Comprehensive Literary Critique_ **

_Article by: Sakusa Kiyoomi | 3 hours ago_

While it is admirable to take a step outside of your comfort zone and dip your toes into an entirely different genre than you’re used to, Miya Atsumu’s new novel doesn't quite reach the same standards possessed by other romantic best-sellers. For a quick synopsis, the leading couple Gauche Freeman and Mirai Yanagizawa have been on-again-off-again lovers for several years, each citing various reasons for the problems in their relationship. The reasons are revealed over the course of the story, and in the end, they resolve their conflicts and live happily ever after. In any other romance novel, this would be considered a category killer, but purple prose in any book is generally considered amateurish and unattractive to veteran readers…

**_We Don’t Need the Memories film adaptation greenlit at last_ **

_Article by: Satou Hiroki | 10 hours ago_

As mentioned above, Miya Atsumu’s debut novel _We Don’t Need the Memories_ is finally getting a film adaptation, news that is sure to make Miya fans weep with uncontrollable joy. The movie will be directed by Washijou Tanji of the famous Shiratorizawa Studios, so it’s sure to be a good one. While most cinematic adaptations tend to tweak a few things in order to provide a fresh narrative and resonate more closely with the general audience, Miya has expressed his wish that the film stay true to the novel in order to preserve the delicate balancing act between its various thematic elements…

**_10 Things You Didn't Know About Miya Atsumu_ **

_Article by: Buzzfeed News | 18 hours ago_

Miya Atsumu is on his way to becoming a household name, but did you know that he isn't naturally blonde? We've asked the Buzzfeed Community what things about Miya has surprised them the most and here's a list of the top ten most surprising facts about the author:

  1. Miya Atsumu has a twin brother, Miya Osamu, who is the owner of the popular Onigiri Miya riceball chain based out of Osaka! Many fans have mistaken Osamu for his more famous brother...



* * *

Atsumu knows that he hasn’t got the easiest personality to work with, but he’s fine with that because he is who he is and no pitiful scrub degrading him out of envy is gonna change that. Osamu had once commented that dealing with Atsumu is like trying to stop a runaway train from falling over a cliff, and, well, he’s not _wrong,_ per se. “Been puttin’ up with yer crap fer twenty-four years and counting,” he had said. Atsumu knows all this. He knows, and yet…

Apparently it’s a whole other ball game when someone criticizes the works that he’s poured literally blood, sweat, and tears into, slaved over into the wee hours of the night until he falls asleep at his desk, read over and over until words become a jumble of nonsense in front of his eyes. His works are his darlings. Who gives a person the right to criticize his hard work?!

Sakusa Kiyoomi clearly never got the memo that “if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” He hides behind a screen and writes disparaging words about Atsumu’s novels, citing this reason and that reason why his elements clash and continually mentioning how superfluous he finds the whole thing. Atsumu just wants to shake him and scream, “Then don’t read it, ya brainless twat!” And he would do it, if he knew what the asshole _looked_ like.

He’s browsed up and down the dark web looking for any and all information about his most outspoken literary critic, but while he does have a brief profile listed on his magazine’s website, there isn’t a single picture of Sakusa on the internet. Nothing. Nada. Not even childhood photos. It’s like the man is a ghost.

_Probably because he’s some balding, ugly-ass old fart who’s got nothin’ better to do,_ Atsumu thinks angrily. The thought instantly makes him feel better. He can totally ignore the words of an old geezer who’s jealous of a youngster’s meteoric rise to fame, no matter how deep they cut. Yep, nothing else to see here.

If only he knew how wrong he was.

* * *

**_Official Black Jackals Publishing ✔_ ** **@blackjackpublishers | 4 hrs**

Hey fans, guess what? Miya Atsumu will be holding a 2-day book signing event in Tokyo on March 11th and 12th at the Inarizaki Bookstore! Remember to save the date on your calendar!

957 comments 8.6k retweets 12.1k likes

> **_miya pls step on me_** **@kenji_boo | 1 hr**
> 
> IM SO READY 4 THIS
> 
> 5 comments 7 retweets 39 likes
> 
> **_i live for sunshine boi_** 🌞 **@milkymilkytea | 1 hr**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu sign my tits n ill be ur fan for life pls pls pls
> 
> 8 comments 15 retweets 67 likes
> 
> **_the thirst is real for this one_ 🍙✔ ** **@onigiri_miya | 3 hrs**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu I hope ya get trampled so I don't gotta feed yer freeloading ass anymore
> 
> 60 comments 129 retweets 1.2k likes
>
>> **_can't handle this sexy beast_ 😎✔ ** **@official_miyaatsumu | 2 hrs**
>> 
>> @onigiri_miya fuck off samu, I'll live just to spite ya
>> 
>> 35 comments 90 retweets 712 likes
>> 
>> **_come at me bro_** **@bk_beanjam | 54 min**
>> 
>> Ain't brotherhood beautiful?
>> 
>> 9 comments 20 retweets 73 likes
> 
> **_i am sunshine boi_ 🌞🏐✔** **@nin_nin_shouyou | 3 hrs**
> 
> Happy book signing, Atsumu-san! I'll be there too!!
> 
> 59 comments 101 retweets 1.1k likes
>
>> **_can't handle this sexy beast_ 😎✔ ** **@official_miyaatsumu | 2 hrs**
>> 
>> @onigiri_miya @nin_nin_shouyou glad to know that SOMEONE appreciates my presence
>> 
>> 34 comments 98 retweets 875 likes
>> 
>> **_the thirst is real for this one_ 🍙✔** **@onigiri_miya | 2 hrs**
>> 
>> @nin_nin_shouyou yer an angel but pls stop inflating his ego, it's gross
>> 
>> 29 comments 75 retweets 771 likes
>> 
>> **_can't handle this sexy beast_ 😎✔** **@official_miyaatsumu | 2 hrs**
>> 
>> @onigiri_miya i hope ya choke
>> 
>> 10 comments 25 retweets 308 likes
>> 
>> **_the thirst is real for this one_ 🍙✔** **@onigiri_miya | 2 hrs**
>> 
>> @official_miyaatsumu luv ya too ya scrub
>> 
>> 9 comments 23 retweets 286 likes
>> 
>> **_i am sunshine boi_** 🌞🏐✔ **@nin_nin_shouyou | 1 hr**
>> 
>> idk whats going on but i’m happy for u!
>> 
>> 11 comments 37 retweets 370 likes

* * *

The book signing event goes off without a hitch, although all the squealing fangirls definitely tested Atsumu’s patience multiple times. His fake public smile feels like it’s been permanently affixed to his face now. He’d wanted to drop it and yell so many times, but his manager would give him that one smile that’s mild as milk on the outside and promising pain on the inside if he can’t keep his gob shut and he’d force himself to grit his teeth and bear it.

At the very least Hinata is there to keep his spirits up throughout the day (because Osamu isn’t, that fucker).

When the first day is over, Atsumu flexes his hand and wrist and winces at the soreness that comes from having to sign his name thousands of times continuously. Yeesh, he still has the second day to get through, too.

“Don’t stay up too late tonight, Atsumu-san,” his manager warns, packing up the folding table and chairs they had been using in the event. He notices the way that Atsumu is systematically rubbing the meat of his palm to alleviate the ache. “Does your hand hurt?”

“A little, but nothin' a bit o’ sleep can’t fix,” Atsumu says, bending his hand back to stretch out his wrist. Ah, what a satisfying feeling.

“Good, now let’s go back to the hotel.” The four assistants that had traveled with them to Tokyo pick up all the equipment and shuffle over to the van that’s parked on the side.

Atsumu is about to follow them when the hair on the back of his neck prickles. He casually turns around, pretending to look at his surroundings, and spots someone with dark, curly hair striding away from the bookstore, steps measured and even on the concrete. The person doesn’t look back once. Atsumu shrugs and follows his manager back to the van. Probably just someone random.

Unfortunately Hinata is not around for the second day of the signing event, because he had promised his boyfriend that he’d spend the day hiking with him. Which means that Atsumu is feeling inarguably more agitated on the second day despite his manager’s and his assistants’ attempts to keep his notoriously terrible temper in check.

When it’s time for a quick break, Atsumu practically runs across the street to get to the little corner cafe on the other side. He glances up before he enters the shop and notices that there’s apparently some kind of office on the second floor of the building directly over the cafe. He squints his eyes against the glare reflecting off the clear glass. The logo on one of the windows looks familiar, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. Ah well, that’s not what he came here for anyway. He enters the cafe.

The heavenly smell of coffee hits him as soon as he steps through the door. A man with bleached hair held back by a thin black headband calls over the counter, “Welcome!”

Luckily there’s only one other person ahead of Atsumu, so he places his order in no time. “Medium latte with four sugars and an extra shot of espresso.”

The man nods, “Coming right up! That’ll be 425 yen, please.” Atsumu deposits the money on the counter and heads over to the pickup area.

The timer on his phone goes off right as he gets his coffee. “Shit,” he mutters, rushing to get back to the Inarizaki bookstore so he can finish the book signing event. He almost bumps into someone coming through the doors at the same time that he’s hurrying out. He yells out an apology as he dashes back to the bookstore, not quite registering the faint “ah, Sakusa-san, here for your usual?” that floats through the air behind him.

Atsumu manages to make it through the rest of the day without insulting anyone too much (that’s a win in his opinion). On the way back to the hotel, he aimlessly surfs the web on his phone.

His eyes linger when he inevitably comes across Sakusa Kiyoomi’s name again, though this time the critique is for another author’s work rather than his. An old man with nothing better to do, he tells himself when he clicks the link that takes him to the page with the full article, curious despite himself.

**_To Listen or to Be Silent: A Comprehensive Literary Review_ **

_Article by: Sakusa Kiyoomi | 25.09.18_

The words ‘listen’ and ‘silent’ are spelled with the same six letters, yet each holds a different meaning than the other. Though this story is outwardly marketed as a murder mystery novel, author Kuroo Tetsurou masterfully weaves his various plotpoints together and dives deep into the beauty and tragedies that make up the flawed human psyche. Do you listen to the voices inside your head, to the devil that sits upon your shoulder, or do you stay silent in the face of the terrible truth? A true crime fiction novel will keep its readers on edge from the first words to the last page. Kuroo’s _To Listen or to Be Silent_ is a wonderful addition on par with the likes of Dashiell Hammett’s _The Maltese Falcon,_ though the question of how the novel will hold up to future audiences is one that shall, at the moment, remain unanswered.

The novel is set in a re-imagined 1950s-esque Tokyo scene, but unlike other historical novels that have made use of the same setting, what truly sets _To Listen or to Be Silent_ apart is that the story is told from the murderer’s perspective rather than the detective’s. The novel begins after the crime has already been committed. The protagonist Yuugo has just killed his partner in a fit of rage over an argument, though his motive is left deliberately unclear…

Disgusted, Atsumu doesn’t finish reading the article and moves on. Unfortunately he can’t say anything about the novel mentioned, because he does happen to be acquainted with Kuroo Tetsurou from the Nekoma branch of the Black Jackals Publishing House and he truly does respect the man’s way with words.

That doesn’t mean he’s gotta take this insult lying down, though. Atsumu hasn’t actually read the book himself, but now he’s hit with the sudden desire to go through it, to immerse himself in the pages and to think about what it is about the novel that’s far more worthy of praise than his own.

Atsumu pauses at that, chewing on his bottom lip. _Has_ he ever gotten a positive review from this Sakusa dude? Why does he care about what some old man thinks anyway?

_I’m doin' this ‘cause I’m curious,_ he thinks furiously as he opens up a new tab on his phone to search for all the book critiques written by Sakusa for his literary works. _Not because I’m desperate, psh._

But before he can go through any of them, a text message pops up on his phone.

> **[inferior miya]**
> 
> hey ugly
> 
> how’d yer event go?
> 
> **[superior miya]**
> 
> we have the same fuckin face
> 
> and ya’d know if ya WENT
> 
> ya asswipe
> 
> **[inferior miya]**
> 
> so it went well
> 
> didnt punch anyone i hope
> 
> but if ya did, that’s yer problem
> 
> **[superior miya]**
> 
> no i didn’t
> 
> who d’ya take me for
> 
> imma be back tmr
> 
> so ya better have some onigiri ready
> 
> **[inferior miya]**
> 
> naw ya can have my leftovers
> 
> that’s all ya deserve
> 
> **[superior miya]**
> 
> eat shit and die
> 
> who tf would want yer leftovers
> 
> that’s fuckin gross
> 
> yer fuckin gross
> 
> **[inferior miya]**
> 
> guess yer just gonna starve then :P
> 
> **[superior miya]**
> 
> HELL NO
> 
> gimme some actual food ya cheapskate
> 
> or ill just show up
> 
> and take em
> 
> **[inferior miya]**
> 
> ya do that all the time, moron
> 
> what else is new
> 
> **[superior miya]**
> 
> stfu
> 
> im an angel
> 
> **[inferior miya]**
> 
> and im god, so ha
> 
> dw kita’s rice just came in
> 
> yer fatass can have the tuna
> 
> **[superior miya]**
> 
> …samu
> 
> i love ya
> 
> yer the best bro i could ask fer
> 
> **[inferior miya]**
> 
> gross, go back to trash talking me
> 
> **[superior miya]**
> 
> HEY
> 
> **[inferior miya]**
> 
> but ily too tsumu
> 
> **[superior miya]**
> 
> >:(
> 
> ❤

Atsumu pockets his phone when the van arrives at their hotel. He’ll look at Sakusa’s critiques later; right now a hot shower and food are calling his name.

* * *

**_Official Black Jackals Publishing_ ✔ ** **@blackjackpublishers | 2 hrs**

Congratulations to @official_miyaatsumu for being nominated for the prestigious Naoki Sanjuugo Prize!

1.7k comments 9.8k retweets 40.2k likes

> **_HOOT me up_ 🦉✔ ** **@bkbeam | 2 hrs**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu WOOOOHOOOOO CONGRATS TSUM-TSUM!!!! 🎉🎉
> 
> 655 comments 4.5k retweets 19.4k likes
> 
> **_i am sunshine boi_** 🌞🏐✔ **@nin_nin_shouyou | 2 hrs**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu Congrats Atsumu-san!!!
> 
> 420 comments 3.1k retweets 10.2k likes
> 
> **_schrodinger's cat_** 🐈✔ **@kurooster | 2 hrs**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu welcome to the big boy leagues
> 
> 589 comments 3.7k retweets 12.1k likes
> 
> **_the thirst is real for this one_ 🍙✔ ** **@onigiri_miya | 1 hr**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu where’d my snot-nosed baby bro go, he’s growin’ up too fast
> 
> 443 comments 3.2k retweets 11.5k likes
>
>> **_can’t handle this sexy beast_ 😎✔ ** **@official_miyaatsumu | 1hr**
>> 
>> @onigiri_miya IM OLDER THAN YA
>> 
>> 112 comments 1.6k retweets 5k likes
> 
> **_that one guy_ ✔** **@sunarinbby | 1 hr**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu congrats tsumu, but u still can’t cook 🤣
> 
> 312 comments 2.4k retweets 8.8k likes
>
>> **_i no speak this country language_** ✔ **@ojiroaran | 58 min**
>> 
>> @official_miyaatsumu RIP
>> 
>> 85 comments 564 retweets 1.1k likes
>> 
>> **_schrodinger's cat_ 🐈✔** **@kurooster | 57 min**
>> 
>> RIP press f to pay respects
>> 
>> 77 comments 430 retweets 1.0k likes
>>
>>> **_the thirst is real for this one_ 🍙✔** **@onigiri_miya | 52 min**
>>> 
>>> f
>>> 
>>> **_i no speak this country language_ ✔** **@ojiroaran | 52 min**
>>> 
>>> f
>>> 
>>> **_that one guy_ ✔** **@sunarinbby | 50 min**
>>> 
>>> f
>>> 
>>> **_get your gayme on_ ✔** **@officialkodzuken | 43 min**
>>> 
>>> f
>>> 
>>> **_team liberty_ ✔** **@komorikat | 42 min**
>>> 
>>> f
>>> 
>>> **_for the love of rice_** ✔ **@kitarice | 21 min**
>>> 
>>> f
>>> 
>>> **_can’t handle this sexy beast_ 😎✔** **@official_miyaatsumu | 10 min**
>>> 
>>> Y’ALL CAN PISS OFF
>>> 
>>> 35 comments 125 retweets 738 likes
> 
> **_an editor in need is an editor indeed_ 📚✔** **@akaashi_k | 1 hr**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu Congratulations, Atsumu-san. May the judges be with you.
> 
> 222 comments 1.9k retweets 6.8k likes
>
>> **_HOOT me up_** 🦉✔ **@bkbeam | 1 hr**
>> 
>> @akaashi_k DID YOU JUST MAKE A STAR WARS JOKE
>> 
>> 82 comments 307 retweets 2.4k likes
>> 
>> **_an editor in need is an editor indeed_** 📚✔ **@akaashi_k |1 hr**
>> 
>> @bkbeam yes
>> 
>> 77 comments 291 retweets 2.2k likes
>> 
>> **_king of UFOs_ 🛸✔ ** **@therealnerdkawa | 55 min**
>> 
>> @bkbeam excuse you, that’s the best kind of joke to make!
>> 
>> 64 comments 270 retweets 1.7k likes
>> 
>> **_an editor in need is an editor indeed_** 📚✔ **@akaashi_k | 49 min**
>> 
>> @iwaizumihajime come get your lost puppy
>> 
>> 51 comments 222 retweets 1.5k likes
>> 
>> **_king of UFOs_ 🛸✔ ** **@therealnerdkawa | 48 min**
>> 
>> :(
>> 
>> 26 comments 100 retweets 736 likes
>> 
>> **_the glorified babysitter_ ✔** **@iwaizumihajime | 43 min**
>> 
>> thanks, will do
>> 
>> 10 comments 45 retweets 559 likes

* * *

The luxury hotel that’s hosting the gathering for the biannual literary awards ceremony and the dinner party is, of course, in Tokyo. Atsumu knows that he’s dressed to impress in his form-fitting maroon three-piece suit, black dress shoes shined to perfection and perfectly laced. His manager had fussed endlessly over his hairstyle. Atsumu hadn’t thought it a big deal to go with his usual, but his manager had done his _non non non_ thing and hired an actual stylist to clean him up.

(He’d rather die than admit that getting that small makeover had made him look even more handsome in the mirror.)

Now he’s clean, groomed, and ready to get this damn show on the—

“TSUM-TSUM!” a familiar voice bellows, and Atsumu braces himself on reflex. Bokuto bounds up to him as boisterously as ever, slapping him on the back hard enough to almost make him fall over. Bokuto steps back and puts his hands on his hips, letting loose a laugh that earns them both disapproving stares from some of the older members in attendance.

“Bokuto-san, you’re too loud,” Akaashi admonishes, ambling up behind the other man. He inclines his head respectfully in Atsumu’s direction. “Atsumu-san, you look well. I hope you win the prize tonight.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, rubbing at his shoulder. “Who else is here?”

“You’re the last one! C’mon, we saved a couple tables over there for ourselves!” Bokuto cheers, leading them through the throng of people to two large round tables close to the windows (and also suspiciously close to the buffet tables set up on the side).

The first person he sees is Hinata, who leaps right out of his chair and runs over to him with a smile so bright, it’s like looking right at the sun. Atsumu has to resist the urge to pull out his shades from out of nowhere.

“Atsumu-san, congratulations on your nomination again!” Hinata says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His eyes are literally _sparkling._ Atsumu doesn’t have to look at Hinata’s plus-one to know that Kageyama is absolutely giving him the death stare. He flashes the dark-haired man a smirk and casually puts one arm around Hinata’s shoulders. Cue the upgrade from death stare to death _glare._

_Too easy,_ Atsumu snickers.

“Thanks for the support, Shouyou-kun,” he drawls, his eyes never leaving Kageyama. “Really ‘ppreciate ya, y’know?”

Hinata perks up and beams. “I’m always happy to help!”

Atsumu chortles when Kageyama starts rising out of his seat and he releases Hinata. “Then ya best calm yer man down before he makes a fool of ‘imself,” he says, spinning the shorter, orange-haired man so that he’s facing his boyfriend. “I’m gonna get some grub before all the good stuff is gone.”

“Good idea!” Bokuto agrees. Akaashi elects to stay at the table.

The two men make their way over to the buffet. With both of them being over six feet tall, they tower over the majority of the attendees and it’s easy to part the sea of people. Atsumu scans the long table and wilts slightly when he doesn’t find any tuna dishes among all the hors d’oeuvres. No matter, food is food, and he isn’t going to get the chance to eat such fine dining that often, so he may as well just take advantage of what’s being offered.

He picks up a plate and begins filling it up, when he hears Bokuto exclaim beside him, “Hey, hey, hey, Sakkun! I didn’t know you were coming, too!”

Sheesh, does Bokuto know _everybody_ around here? Atsumu turns his head so that he can see who his enthusiastic acquaintance is talking to.

He almost drops his whole plate on the floor when he registers that a _very_ tall man (taller than both him and Bokuto!) with perfectly coiffed black hair is standing just a few feet away from them. Half-lidded inky black eyes stare drolly back at him, two adorable moles dotting the space just above one of the man’s eyes. A plain white surgical mask unfortunately covers the lower half of his face from view, but hot damn, Atsumu knows attractive when he sees it.

On top of that, he’s wearing a fitted charcoal-gray suit with a cream-colored cravat snugly resting around his neck, gold cufflinks glittering by his wrists, the thin golden chain of a pocket watch peeking out from beneath the jacket. Frankly, this guy looks like he stepped right out of one of Atsumu’s wet dreams.

This guy ain’t just sexy; he’s _smokin’ hot._

Atsumu suddenly feels horribly self-conscious in front of someone who’s so beautiful, it should be illegal. He masks his nervousness with a facade of casual confidence, “Ya gonna introduce me to yer friend, Bokkun?”

“We’re not friends—” the man starts to say just as Bokuto shouts, “Of course!”

The guy’s eye twitches in irritation over being interrupted. Atsumu can sympathize; Bokuto just steamrolls over everyone else when he gets excited.

“Tsum-Tsum, this is Sakusa Kiyoomi from Itachiyama Critiques! Sakkun, this is—”

“I know who he is, who doesn’t these days?” the guy interjects, rolling his eyes. “You’re Miya Atsumu.”

But Atsumu doesn’t hear him, his mind stuck on two words playing on a feedback loop in his head, over and over and over again.

_“Yer Sakusa Kiyoomi?!”_ he blurts out, his former image of ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi’ being an ugly, reclusive old fart who mocked literature behind a computer screen shattering like glass on a concrete floor.

Sakusa raises a disdainful eyebrow. “Yes, that’s me,” he confirms. Fuck. Atsumu is torn between wanting to punch him in the face and wanting to find an empty room so he can push this asshole against a wall and—

Okay, no, now is _not_ the time for that. Besides, Sakusa is giving him a condescending look like Atsumu is a particular nasty virus that he doesn’t want to catch (is it screwed up if Atsumu admits that even that expression makes him a little hot under the collar?).

“Oh, you two know each other already? Why didn’t you just say so?” Bokuto breaks up the tension with ease, brandishing the tongs in his hand. “You gonna eat anything, Sakkun?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sakusa says tersely, taking a pack of sanitizing wipes out of his pants pocket. Atsumu arches an eyebrow at him. Huh, who knew that the hot book critic is also a germaphobe. He grins, undeterred by the sour expression that Sakusa throws at him.

_Interesting._

However, Sakusa doesn't take a plate for himself. He gazes down the row, looking disgusted at the open food displays, steam seeping from the half-open lids of the hot food trays, stacks of off-white plates placed at the front where anyone can touch them with sticky hands. "I'll pass on the appetizers," he informs them, sliding the packet of wipes back into his pocket.

“More for me!” Bokuto cheers, piling more food on his plate.

“What, c’mon, yer at a party. Loosen up, will ya?” Atsumu drawls, gaining an unexpected confidence boost when Sakusa shoots daggers at him with his eyes, dark brows scrunched together and making him look like an angry cat. It’s got to be a sign of his deteriorating sanity that he finds it cute instead of intimidating.

“If by ‘loosening up’ you mean that I should keep company with the likes of you, I would rather lick the floor,” Sakusa fires back.

Atsumu dramatically grasps at his heart and pretends to faint, lightly bumping the back of his head against Bokuto’s shoulder. “How cold of you, Omi-kun!”

He grins at the taller man when Sakusa begins to radiate a frigid aura that drops the temperature in their vicinity by a few degrees. The brunet looks ready to throttle him (most people do after he’s only spoken with them for a few minutes. Funny, that). When he speaks again, his voice is low and rough behind the mask, which does _things_ to Atsumu that he should not let himself feel while in public, _“Never call me that again.”_

“Aw, why not? Let’s be friends, Omi-kun!”

Sakusa takes a deep breath. “If you’re trying to befriend me so that I’ll write you a better book review, you’re wasting your time.”

Ouch, that actually hurt. Atsumu’s jaw drops at the accusation. “I would never!” he says, indignant. What the hell, he’s got better morals than that. “If ya don’t like my work, then don’t read it, ya moron!”

“It’s part of the job,” Sakusa deadpans. “Unfortunately, that means I often have to read things that I find unpleasant.”

“I’ll show ya unpleasant,” Atsumu mutters under his breath. He looks around and realizes that Bokuto’s already gone back to the table to chow down. Sakusa starts to walk away, clearly done with the conversation when Atsumu calls after him, “One of these days I’ll write somethin’ so cool that ya’ll _have_ to acknowledge me! I’m gonna grab a perfect rating from ya! Got it, Omi-Omi?”

Sakusa flips him the bird, which somehow no one besides Atsumu notices. Then he parks himself over in the nearest corner like a loser.

The best-selling author huffs, then goes back to grabbing some food to snack on.

When he returns to the table, Kuroo and Oikawa, along with their plus-ones, are chatting with the rest of the group. They both leer at him as he steals an empty chair from a nearby table to sit on.

“What?” Atsumu snaps defensively, chewing on some kind of savory egg tart.

“You’ve got guts trying to hit on Sakusa,” Kuroo chortles. “That man’s as stone cold as they get!”

Atsumu turns bright red. “I wasn’t hittin’ on ‘im!” he protests, spraying crumbs all over his plate.

“Mmhm, sure.”

Outraged, Atsumu turns towards the others. “Y’all really think I was tryin’ to flirt with that asshole?!”

Bokuto scratches the back of his head and grins sheepishly, “Well, I’ve never seen Sakkun talk so much to someone he just met, so… yeah!”

“That’s got nothin’ to do with flirtin’!”

Hinata happily throws in his own two cents, “You looked like your heart was going all _gwaaah_ when you met him! You must really like him, Atsumu-san!”

“I do _not—”_

“You can’t tell me that you didn’t take one look at him and think that he _isn’t_ sex on legs,” Oikawa interrupts smugly, raising his flute of champagne, which he clinks against Kuroo’s own glass.

“Yer gangin’ up on me!” Atsumu wails. Iwaizumi helpfully punches Oikawa on the arm in retaliation, earning him an exaggerated pout and a whiny “Iwa-chan!”

Someone pats his shoulder from behind. “Kiyoomi doesn’t really like to talk to people, so even I’m surprised that he actually spoke more than five words to you or didn’t just outright ignore you.”

Atsumu cranes his neck to look at the person upside down over the seat. Neat brown hair, round eyebrows, slight dimples around his mouth. “Who’re ya?” he asks, confused as to why some random guy is talking to them about Sakusa, and using his given name no less. “Ya that guy’s boyfriend or somethin’?”

“Oh, heavens no! Kiyoomi is my cousin. We grew up together,” the shorter man laughs, moving to the side so that Atsumu can talk to him without hurting his neck. He holds out a hand. “I’m Komori. Nice to meet you, Miya-san.”

Atsumu makes a face. “Just call me Atsumu, everyone does.” He stuffs a bite of deviled eggs into his mouth. He chews and swallows, giving Komori a considering glance. “Gotta say, ya don’t look anythin’ like him.”

“Yeah, we get that a lot,” Komori says, not at all offended by the comment. “I promise he’s not as bad as the impression he gives off. He just needs time to warm up to you.”

“Oh, Atsumu’ll warm him up alright,” Kuroo snickers, leaning on the back of Kenma’s chair. He wiggles his eyebrows in a truly lewd fashion. “After all, you’re _Atsu-_ mu, get it?” This is met by a burst of laughter from Bokuto and Hinata and groans from everyone else, including Atsumu.

“Kuroo, that was a terrible joke,” Kenma says, trying not to smile and failing.

“I’ll have you know that that was peak comedy. A real _pun_ chline.”

“Kuroo, stop it.”

“Yes, dear.” The taller man bends down and smothers a kiss against Kenma’s hair, earning him a light swat and a blush at the casual display of public affection. Hinata giggles at the scene and leans against Kageyama, who turns pink, but holds him close anyway.

The staticky feedback from a microphone cuts short all of the conversations around the room. A middle-aged gentleman in a crisp black tuxedo stands on the elevated wooden stage at the front of the room, tapping gently on the silver mic in his hand. “Ahem, testing, testing,” he says. “Can everyone hear me?”

There’s a scattered round of confirmations from the guests.

“Excellent. Well, I would like everyone to take their seats now. The awards ceremony will begin shortly.”

Atsumu decides to put Sakusa Kiyoomi out of his mind for the moment. He’s got a literary prize to win.

(To absolutely no one’s surprise, _We Don’t Need the Memories_ is named the best popular literature by a rising author, and Atsumu gets to go home with a new pocket watch and greater literary prestige than ever, exactly one million yen richer.)

* * *

Atsumu is in the middle of pulling off his suit pants when he hears a slight crackle from one of his pockets. Frowning, he digs in and pulls out a folded piece of paper that he _knows_ he didn’t put in there, especially when he opens it and unfamiliar handwriting greets him.

**_Kiyoomi’s #:_ **090-X393-X403

_Text him ;)_

Atsumu stares at it. A shit-eating grin spreads across his face the next moment and he cackles in the bathroom. Oh, this is rich! Sakusa’s own cousin just tossed him to the wolves. The writer grabs his phone off the counter and enters the number, saving it under _‘Omi-Omi’._

> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> Hey sexy ;)

He giggles to himself as he sends it, feeling like a hormonal teenager all over again. He places the phone face down on the counter and strips off the rest of his suit so he can hop into the shower. He can just imagine the absolutely disgusted face that Sakusa will make upon seeing that text. Whether or not he’ll choose to reply though, is what Atsumu is looking forward to finding out once he’s done.

Sakusa does not, in fact, deign to give him a reply. Atsumu isn’t surprised; the other man most likely thought it was a prank message or sent to the wrong number.

He decides to try a different approach.

> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> aw ignoring me Omi-Omi?
> 
> it’s yer favorite author 😉

Atsumu laughs into his pillow when the reply comes almost instantly.

> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Miya
> 
> How the hell did you get my number
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> it was in my pocket!
> 
> y’know ya coulda said sumthin
> 
> if yer rly that interested in lil ol me
> 
> ;)
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> It was Motoya wasn’t it
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> who
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Don’t play dumb
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> no rly who tf is motoya
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Komori
> 
> My cousin
> 
> Who I know you talked to
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> o that guy!
> 
> idk like i said, yer # was in my pocket
> 
> on a pc of paper!
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> …
> 
> You’re a terrible liar
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> bc yer my one TRUE love 😘
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> I’m blocking you
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> nooooo im sorry!
> 
> i was just joking
> 
> but i meant what i said at the party
> 
> let’s be friends, Omi-kun!
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> No
> 
> Go away
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> :(
> 
> even if i give ya an autograph for free?
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Why would I want that
> 
> You’re the bane of my existence
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> why thank ya, yer so sweet! 😆
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> That wasn’t a compliment, idiot
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> it was to me!!
> 
> 😉😉😉
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Are you this obnoxious with everyone you meet
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> only the sexy ones ;)
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> I’m not sleeping with you
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> even if i’m clean?
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> …
> 
> No
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> i hear a maybe
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> No means no
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> aw :(
> 
> its ok, i’ll try again next time!
> 
> no one can resist me for long
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> I’m calling the police
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> Y?????
> 
> omg
> 
> i’m not gonna force myself on ya!!
> 
> i have morals!
> 
> gosh omi-kun, its like ya don’t know me
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> I don’t
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> but ya could 😏
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> I’m still not giving you a good review
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> JFC WILL YA LET THAT GO
> 
> i said i don’t do stuff like that!!
> 
> if ya don’t like my current books
> 
> then i’ll just hafta keep writing
> 
> till i write one that ya actually enjoy
> 
> i don’t want a pity review
> 
> that’s just pathetic and that ain’t me
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Fine
> 
> I’ll believe it when I see it
> 
> **[Atsumu)**
> 
> ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Rejected
> 
> **[Atsumu}**
> 
> :(
> 
> 💔
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> You’re ridiculous
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> ridiculously attractive, i know
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> More like ridiculously stupid
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> aw Omi-Omi! (´∇ﾉ｀*)ノ
> 
> i didn’t know ya loved me so much
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Stop calling me that
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> never!!!
> 
> yer my omi-omi from now on!
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> I’m not your anything
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> but i’m the bane of yer existence right 😉
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Get out
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> LMAO aight i’m going
> 
> g’night Omi-Omi!!
> 
> i’ll talk to ya tmr ;)
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Please don’t

Atsumu connects the charger to his phone because it’s almost dead and flops back on the hotel bed. He can’t stop grinning. Sakusa could have stopped talking to him anytime once he learned that Atsumu was the one texting him, but he still replied. That means that he has _hope._ It feels great.

He closes his eyes and breathes in.

Now… if he was in Sakusa’s shoes, what kind of story would he like to read?

* * *

Three months later, Atsumu ends up pulling an all-nighter on a Saturday when he stays up reading _On Extraterrestrial Terrariums,_ Oikawa’s latest release, a collection of short stories that earned a four and a half star rating from Sakusa. He downs five cups of coffee to keep himself awake as he goes through each individual story, noting the little subplots within and how they’re connected by an overarching theme. He takes everything in, the words, the prose, the languages of space and earth dancing in tandem, the message, the details, what Oikawa is saying between the lines. He nearly fills up an entire notebook with his notes.

When the clock strikes eight, he finally finishes the last story in the collection, and cries. He types out a message with shaky fingers, blubbering to Oikawa about how beautiful his book is. Then he flops on his couch and passes out.

He doesn’t wake up until nearly three when someone rudely shoves him off of the couch and sends him sprawling to the floor with an undignified shout.

“Wha—? Ugh, my _head._ Samu, you jackass,” he groans, curling up pathetically as his twin brother throws the curtains open and lets the sun shine mercilessly down on his face.

“Can’t believe ya’ve been sleepin’ this whole time, moron. Didja forget we were supposed ta meet Ushiwaka for lunch?” Osamu huffs, setting a plastic bag down on Atsumu’s dining table.

Atsumu peeks through his fingers. “Was tha’ today? S’rry,” he slurs, swaying onto his feet. He lets loose a jaw-cracking yawn. “Ya brought me food?”

“Only ‘cause yer dumbass probably hasn’t eaten all day. Ya didn’t answer my calls either.”

“Aw, were ya worried ‘bout me? Love ya, Samu,” Atsumu teases, throwing an arm around his brother’s shoulders as Osamu unpacks the bag of food.

“Ugh, ya reek of stale coffee. Go take a shower before ya eat,” the younger twin says, wrinkling his nose.

“Ya’ve seen me in worse conditions!” Atsumu complains, but saunters off to his bathroom anyway.

A hot shower perks him up and freshens his mind. He throws on a bathrobe, too lazy to properly get dressed when it’s just him and his brother in the apartment. He checks his phone and realizes that it ran out of battery while he was asleep, so he plugs it in. Then he walks back out to the kitchen.

“Took ya long enough,” Osamu says, not looking up from his own phone.

“Shut yer trap, can’t maintain this level o’ sexy without a proper shower.” Atsumu scrubs a hand through his damp hair, imagining that he looks as stately as the greek gods of old and not like a dumpster goblin who just rolled out of bed.

Osamu snorts, “Just eat yer grub already. I just told Ushiwaka why ya didn’t show up ta lunch.”

“I always knew ya cared.”

“Ew, who’d care ‘bout ya. If ya died, I’d get all yer money.”

“Asshole.”

“Yer welcome.”

Atsumu playfully shoulder checks his brother before he sits down to gobble up the food.

The familiar banter between him and Osamu makes him feel better about how he’s going to write a story that even Sakusa will have to admit is good—no, better yet, he’s gonna be the first author to publish a work that’ll earn a five-star rating from the picky book critic. After going through Sakusa’s numerous critiques, he’d realized that despite the words of praise that the guy wrote in his reviews, he has yet to rate any book with a perfect rating. There’s always some tiny, miniscule complaint that he has.

Atsumu is going to be the _first._

Osamu’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “I hope ya ain’t thinkin’ of yer boyfriend while I’m still here. Yer smilin’ and it’s creepin’ me out.”

When the words register in his mind, Atsumu _chokes._ Osamu thumps him on the back as he gasps for breath. He glares up at his smirking twin with watery eyes. “The hell kinda drugs are ya on? I ain’t got a boyfriend!”

“Really? Coulda fooled me.” Osamu smiles innocently, but with a devious glint in his eyes. “Ya sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure! Don’tcha think ya’d be the first one I’d tell if I had one?!”

Osamu leans back. “Oh, so ya weren’t hittin’ on a ‘super sexy book critic’ at the awards party?”

_“Who told ya that?!”_ Atsumu sputters.

His twin laughs loudly. “Ya totally were! ‘Bout time someone caught yer interest, Tsumu!”

Atsumu groans and covers his face with his hands. “Yeah, _okay,_ he’s so fuckin’ hot that I’m losin’ my mind here, but he’s a dick!” he says, his voice coming out muffled through the gaps in his palms.

“I could say the same fer ya, but that’s gross.”

“We have the same face, ya scrub!”

“Yeah, but I ain’t a narcissist and yer the dictionary definition of one.”

Atsumu elbows his brother in the stomach, offended. He shovels down the rest of the food as fast as possible so that he can go back to his room and sulk (he’s not running away, it’s called ‘strategically retreating’).

Osamu shows himself out, yelling at Atsumu not to forget to come to brunch with Kita and Ojiro next Sunday. Then Atsumu is left alone in his apartment.

He checks his phone, which is about forty percent charged. There’s four missed calls from Osamu, an email from his agent, several notifications from Twitter, a headline from the news, and a reply from Oikawa, but no texts from Sakusa. That’s fine, Sakusa never initiates their conversations, it’s always Atsumu who reaches out first.

He checks Oikawa’s reply:

> **[Oikawa]**
> 
> My, how forward of you, Atsu-chan! 😏
> 
> But thanks for reading!
> 
> I’m happy with how they turned out
> 
> Iwa-chan is too, but he won’t admit it
> 
> Can you believe it?? 😱😱
> 
> The betrayal!
> 
> It shakes me to my bones
> 
> By the way, I just saw your boytoy the other day
> 
> I was in Niigata for business
> 
> Surprise! He was too
> 
> **IMAGE**
> 
> You’re welcome ;)

Atsumu opens the picture immediately. All the air immediately leaves his lungs. Holy crap, Oikawa did _not_ disappoint.

The picture is a candid shot taken with Oikawa’s fancy new iPhone 12. Sakusa is standing alone close to the metal railing overlooking the sea, windswept ebony curls revealing the three-quarter turn of his face towards the sun. His mask has been pulled down to his neck, exposing perfect cupid’s bow lips and little dimples pooling below the corners of his mouth, which are faintly upturned to give the impression that he’s actually smiling. He’s wearing a highlighter-yellow windbreaker jacket with neon green accents that should look hideous, but he pulls it off with ease, especially combined with the black skinny jeans that hug his ass and thighs in all the right spots. He is _absolutely_ a sex god on legs and Atsumu wants to eat him up, wants to peel those pants off and bite along soft inner thighs until they are littered with marks, wants Sakusa to pin him to the mattress and _wreck_ him until he’s a whimpering mess who can no longer speak, only moan—

(Atsumu takes his second shower of the day, jerking himself off hard and fast with his forehead against the cool tiles, Sakusa’s name falling from his lips as he comes.)

Afterwards, he saves the photo to his gallery and sends Oikawa a message.

> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> that was a good picture
> 
> bastard
> 
> **[Oikawa]**
> 
> ❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )

Atsumu shakes his head and turns his attention to the other things on his phone. The email from his agent is about participating as a guest on a talk show, the news is going on about some political agenda that Atsumu can’t care less about, and the Twitter notifications are the usual spiel from fans who enjoy his books.

He sends off a confirmation to his agent before he opens up the text conversation with Sakusa. If he’s going to write a book that Sakusa will enjoy, what better way to understand the man than to ask the source himself?

> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> Omi-kun~!
> 
> what’s yer favorite book ever
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Why do you want to know
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> humor me!!
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> ...I don’t have one
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> what 😶
> 
> WHAT 😨
> 
> W H A T 😱
> 
> OMI OMI
> 
> PLS TELL ME YER JOKING!!
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Why would I joke about that
> 
> I like many books
> 
> But I don’t have a favorite
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> i
> 
> i’m in shock
> 
> do ya have a fav genre then??
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> No
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> fav author??
> 
> fav movie??
> 
> fav quote??
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> No to all three
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> ( ⊙０⊙)
> 
> YER KILLIN ME OMI-KUN
> 
> d’ya have a fav anything??
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> My favorite food is umeboshi
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> that’s it????
> 
> i mean good 2 know 😏
> 
> but wow omi-kun, ya should get out more
> 
> everyone’s got their bias y’know?
> 
> ya can’t tell me ya don’t!
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> My bias is that I think that you’re an obnoxious brat
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> RUDE
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> And you’re a try-hard who doesn’t understand
> 
> what lies at the core of true fiction writing
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> what r ya even talkin bout??
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Figure it out yourself
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> don’t leave me hangin like that!!
> 
> Omi-kun??
> 
> Omi-Omi???
> 
> HELLO????
> 
> OMI NO PLS COME BACK 😭😭
> 
> KIYOOMI
> 
> KI-YO-O-MI
> 
> KIYO-OMI
> 
> OMI
> 
> O-MI
> 
> OMIIIIIIII
> 
> OOOOOMI
> 
> OOOOOMIIIIIIIII
> 
> OMI
> 
> OMI
> 
> OMI
> 
> OMI
> 
> OMI
> 
> OMI
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> STOP SPAMMING MY PHONE
> 
> I’M WORKING
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> OMI THAKN GOD 😢
> 
> omg ya typed in all caps
> 
> did i make ya mad 😅😅
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Do you ever stop talking
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> nope!!
> 
> cmonnnn just tell me what ya meant
> 
> and then i’ll leave ya alone
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> I said figure it out yourself
> 
> I’m not your babysitter
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> i know but i’m dumb ok??
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> …Fine
> 
> Consider what these two western quotes have in common
> 
> “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?”
> 
> And
> 
> “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life.”
> 
> That’s it
> 
> Now leave me alone
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> thanks omi-omi! ❤❤❤

Atsumu googles both quotes right away. “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?” is actually a song from the American musical _Hamilton,_ while “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life” was spoken by the late Apple co-founder and CEO, Steve Jobs. He leans back against his headboard and thinks.

What kind of message is Sakusa trying to tell him?

* * *

In the following months, Atsumu writes two novels.

One is for the publisher, a nitty-gritty horror story that has even Osamu biting his nails while reading over the rough draft. Atsumu has certainly spent a lot of sleepless nights pouring over the manuscript, whittling down each scene till every word is perfectly primed to ramp up the suspense and conjure the deepest, darkest emotions possible. He cuts out the unnecessary flowery language he had used for _Homecoming by the Riverside_ and replaces it with sharp tones and psychologically impactful scenes. He wants the reader to be _afraid._ It is aptly titled _The Black Parade._

The other one is for himself. He doesn’t know if it’s a story that he’ll ever want to publish, but at the same time, he can’t earn a five-star rating from Sakusa if he doesn’t. It’s left nameless for now—only Atsumu knows what it represents.

The thing that the two quotes have in common is the theme of _time._ _Hamilton_ says to use it like it’s running out, Steve Jobs says not to waste it doing the bidding of others.

To Atsumu, this is a flashing neon sign from Sakusa, asking him: _what are you doing with your time?_

Do you want to write something to please the reader fanbase or will you write the story that you _want_ to write?

_Why not do both?_ So Atsumu does both. Two novels, one for the public, one for himself.

The day that _The Black Parade_ hits the bookshelves across Japan, Atsumu keeps his phone close at hand, anxiously awaiting the verdict from a certain book critic. His newest published novel is 384 pages of terror and insanity wrapped up in a pretty cover, and while he thinks it’s good, does _Sakusa_ think it’s good?

He paces his apartment just to have something to occupy his feet and burn off the excess energy.

A chime from his phone has him practically diving for it. He clicks his tongue in annoyance when he realizes it’s just Twitter notifications.

**_Official Black Jackals Publishing_ ✔ ** **@blackjackpublishers | 5 hrs**

Miya Atsumu’s new horror novel _The Black Parade_ makes its debut today! Head to your nearest bookstore to get a copy now!

3.7k comments 50.3k retweets 152.2k likes

> **_schrodinger’s cat_ 🐈✔ ** **@kurooster | 5 hrs**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu i literally got chills from the summary alone
> 
> 2.4k comments 38.9k retweets 91k likes
> 
> **_i am sunshine boi_ 🌞🏐✔ ** **@nin_nin_shouyou | 5 hrs**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu I’M NOT SCARED AT ALL
> 
> 2.0k comments 30.5k retweets 87.3k likes
>
>> **_power curry is the only curry_ ✔ ** **@kageyama.tobio | 4 hrs**
>> 
>> @nin_nin_shouyou boke your knees are shaking
>> 
>> 124 comments 7.4k retweets 13.7k likes
>> 
>> **_i am sunshine boi_ 🌞🏐✔ ** **@nin_nin_shouyou | 4 hrs**
>> 
>> @kageyama.tobio U WANNA FIGHT?!
>> 
>> 88 comments 5.9k retweets 9.9k likes
> 
> **_history has its eyes on you_ ✔ ** **@officialushiwaka | 3 hrs**
> 
> I look forward to reading it.
> 
> 1.7k comments 28.3k retweets 60.2k likes
> 
> **_garam masala_ ** **@yonegi_eggbread | 3 hrs**
> 
> miya’s all over the place with his genres, he should just stick to one
> 
> 66 comments 432 retweets 770 likes
>
>> **_prose before hoes_ ** **@alagaydeviant | 3 hrs**
>> 
>> @yonegi_eggbread it’s called talent, m’dear
>> 
>> 138 comments 951 retweets 2k likes
> 
> **_the thirst is real for this one_ 🍙✔ ** **@onigiri_miya | 2 hrs**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu i have questions about yer sanity
> 
> 2.1k comments 29.4k retweets 69.2k likes
>
>> **_that one guy_ ✔ ** **@sunarinbby | 1 hr**
>> 
>> @official_miyaatsumu @onigiri_miya same
>> 
>> 518 comments 5.6k retweets 20.7k likes
> 
> **_HOOT me up_ 🦉✔ ** **@bkbeam | 20 min**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu challenge accepted!
> 
> 1.8k comments 12.6k retweets 40.1k likes

Atsumu puts his phone away and continues pacing the length of the apartment. The book was officially released today, but he knows that Itachiyama Critiques always gets a pre-release copy to get a headstart on their reviews. Seriously, the wait is killing him! Waiting sucks.

Osamu texts him to tell him to stop wearing a hole into his floorboards. Fuckin’ twin telepathy. Atsumu sits on the couch and puts on a random TV show to distract himself.

In retrospect, he probably should have read the show summary before putting it on, because this show is so bad, it’s actually hilarious. Atsumu laughs his way through three episodes of disgustingly cheesy dialogue, terrible CGI effects, loads of fake blood, and clichés that are so cliché they transcend bad clichês when the doorbell rings, startling him.

Confused, Atsumu pauses the show and gets up to open the door. He’s not expecting anyone, so who—

He’s not expecting to get a knife to the gut, either.

The pain doesn’t register at first. Atsumu just stares at the knife in his stomach in shock, then watches as the black-clad assailant runs away. His vision goes gray and he collapses on top of the landing, halfway out of the entryway. Shit. He can’t move. He has to move. Find his phone and call the police or call his brother or… _something_ more productive than just laying here and dying like a fuckin' loser.

Someone screams. ("Somebody call an ambulance!")

There’s some angry yelling—Bokuto? Kuroo? He’s not sure. ("Lemme at that son of a bitch! How dare he do this to my friend!")

At some point, he thinks he hears Osamu sobbing near him, but that can’t be right. Osamu doesn't cry, Atsumu is the crybaby between the two of them. ("Tsumu! Oh my god, no, this can't be happenin'! There's so much blood, oh god, Tsumu, please, don't die on me!")

There’s a sensation of being lifted, the neon red lights of the ambulance flashing behind closed eyelids, the paramedics speaking some kind of nonsense right over his head.

Then… nothing.

* * *

**_Rising author Miya Atsumu stabbed in front of his apartment!_ **

_Article by: Kindaichi Yuutarou | 1 hour ago_

Miya Atsumu is a popular new writer who is rising through the ranks with a rapidity not seen from most new writers. His newest novel, _The Black Parade,_ actually debuted in bookstores across Japan just this morning mere hours before an unknown person broke into the gated apartment complex and stabbed him with a knife. The attacker is currently being held in police custody.

Black Jackals Publishers have declined to comment on possible motives behind the assault. Hopefully Miya is able to recover from this attack without permanent injury and be able to resume writing without further difficulties.

* * *

**_Official Black Jackals Publishing_ ✔ ** **@blackjackpublishers | 45 min**

Please keep Miya Atsumu in your prayers tonight. We wish him a safe and speedy recovery from this horrific incident.

8.7k comments 85.1k retweets 202.9k likes

> **_i am sunshine boi_** 🌞🏐✔ **@nin_nin_shouyou | 44 min**
> 
> I can’t believe someone would do that to Atsumu-san. People are sick. 〳 •́ ⌓ •̀ 〵
> 
> 5.5k comments 56.2k retweets 187.7k likes
> 
> **_get your gayme on ✔_ ** **@officialkodzuken | 40 min**
> 
> I hope that stabby bastard gets what’s coming for him. Rest well, Miya.
> 
> 2.3k comments 39k retweets 169.4k likes
> 
> **_no rest for the wicked_** **@shangrilalolita | 39 min**
> 
> everybody gangsta till @nin_nin_shouyou starts typing full sentences
> 
> 1.8k comments 31.7k retweets 124.2k likes
> 
> **_cupcake lyfe supreme_** **@chuntaro_bae | 33 min**
> 
> nooooo not Miya Atsumu!!!
> 
> 963 comments 3.4k retweets 8.1k likes
> 
> **_i no speak this country language_ ✔** **@ojiroaran | 32 min**
> 
> Godspeed, Atsumu. We are here for you.
> 
> 1.7k comments 30.5k retweets 122.6k likes

* * *

Atsumu wakes up with a mind as slow and muddled as a swamp. The hospital lights are fluorescent white, the air sterile and reeking of antiseptic. He feels sluggish. He can’t move his arms at all. There’s the hard plastic of an oxygen mask on his face, helping him breathe. A dull pain burns in his abdomen.

He manages to tilt his head to the side, where he finds Osamu fast asleep in a chair, head pillowed on crossed arms on the hospital bed. The corners of his visible eye are puffy and red, and there are dried tear tracks on his cheek.

“Sssss—” Atsumu tries to speak, but his throat is dry and all that comes out is a whisper. He still can’t move his arms, although if he tries hard enough, he can twitch his fingers. “Sssss—”

By the power of twin telepathy, Osamu stirs. He blinks sleepily, registers that Atsumu’s awake, and leaps to his feet so fast that the chair wobbles on its feet. “Tsumu! Yer awake!” Atsumu is horrified when Osamu starts crying again, except this time he leans down and hugs Atsumu’s head, drenching the side of his pillow with his tears. “Ya fuckin’ asshole, ya scared me. When I saw ya just layin’ on the floor in a pool of yer own blood, I thought ya were _dead._ Don’t do this to me again, Tsumu, I don’t think I could bear it—”

“Ssssss’rrrr,” Atsumu slurs.

Osamu steps back, wiping at his eyes. “Let me tell the others. They wanna see ya, too.”

Atsumu can already feel the siren call of sleep tugging at his consciousness again. He fights it with what meager strength he managed to accumulate in his short time awake, and lasts long enough to see Bokuto and Suna come in before he slips back under.

The next time he wakes up, he feels much better. The oxygen mask is gone, and he has regained feeling in his arms and legs. He opens his eyes, expecting to see Osamu in the room again.

He is _not_ expecting to see Sakusa and Ushijima conversing quietly by the window. He must make some sort of noise, because both of their heads snap towards him instantly.

“Ah, you’re awake. I’ll call the nurse.” Ushijima presses the button next to the bed.

Atsumu is more focused on Sakusa, who ambles up to his bedside with the same placid expression he’s come to associate with the stoic man. “Omi,” he greets weakly.

“Miya.” Sakusa gives him a cordial nod. “Glad to see you’re okay.”

“Can’t get rid o’ me that easily,” Atsumu rasps. He mimes drinking water because his throat feels like an absolute desert. Sakusa fills a glass with water, but he hands it to Ushijima instead of giving it to Atsumu himself. Right, Sakusa’s a germaphobe, and Atsumu’s been laying in a hospital bed for who knows how long.

To his credit, Ushijima doesn't even blink when he helps Atsumu sit up. He presses the cold rim of the glass to Atsumu's lips, tilting the cup gently to give the bedridden man little mouthfuls of blessed water at a time.

When the glass is half-empty, Ushijima sets it aside. Atsumu sighs in relief, wincing when he accidentally puts pressure on his gut wound. Fuckin’ _ow._ Who the hell just goes up and stabs a guy like that?

“Did—” he clears his throat a few times, “—did they get caught? The person who did this to me.”

“Yes, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Ushijima says. “There’s been no statement from the police about his motive yet, but your assailant is behind bars.”

“Oh, good,” Atsumu sighs, sinking back down against the mattress. He looks at Sakusa. “Didja like my book, Omi-kun? Ne’er got ta see yer critique ‘cause, y’know—” he gestures to his stomach.

Sakusa gives him one of his patented are-you-serious looks. “You’re recovering from a serious near-fatal injury and you want to know if I enjoyed reading _The Black Parade,”_ he deadpans. He pinches the bridge of his nose over his surgical mask. “You’re impossible.”

Before Atsumu can reply with one of his snarky comebacks, the door to the room slides open and a nurse finally comes in with a clipboard. “Good morning, Miya-san, I’m going to check your vitals and see how you’re doing today.”

She politely asks Ushijima and Sakusa to leave the room so she can start the examination. Both men acquiesce easily, striding a few paces to the door and closing it behind them.

The examination thankfully goes off without a hitch. Due to the nature of the injury, Atsumu will have to stay in the hospital for at least one month to prevent any extra complications from occurring so soon after the surgery, especially to keep the wound from getting re-infected while he still has sutures holding his skin together. Atsumu groans when he hears this. He _hates_ staying still and having nothing to do, but he also knows that he’ll get yelled at not just by his brother, but by all of his friends if he attempts to get discharged sooner than advised. Maybe he’ll bug Osamu to bring him some books to read so that he doesn’t go stir crazy in here.

When the nurse leaves (after firmly warning him not to aggravate the wound), only Sakusa walks back in. “Wakatoshi-kun had to take a conference call,” the book critic explains when Atsumu gives him a questioning glance. He doesn’t sit down, opting to stand by the bed instead. “As for your question, the answer is yes.”

“Eh?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “Your book, idiot. Yes, I enjoyed it.”

Atsumu stares at him, then he beams. “Aw, Omi-kun! Yer makin’ me blush,” he says with a laugh, wincing when the laugh makes his gut burn. He puts a hand over his stomach. “Ow.”

“Don’t hurt yourself even more on my account,” Sakusa says dryly. “Can’t have you dying before you make good on your promise.”

Atsumu frowns. “Promise? What promise? Ya already said ya enjoyed my book—”

“I liked it, yes, but not enough to give it five stars.”

“Stingy,” Atsumu mumbles with a pout. “Can ya tell me what parts ya liked and what ya think coulda been improved?”

“I wrote it in the critique.”

“But I wanna hear it from ya directly!” the writer whines.

Sakusa’s dark eyebrows pinch together in irritation, but they quickly smooth out. “You are such a pain to deal with,” he huffs. Atsumu gleefully notes that he says those words with an exasperated sort of fondness rather than any actual malice. Clearly he’s making progress on his goal to befriend the prickly critic.

“I thought I was the bane o’ yer existence,” he says, grinning.

“You are.”

“So mean, Omi-kun!”

The dark-haired man pulls a pack of sanitizing wipes from his pocket, which he uses to thoroughly wipe down the folding chair in the corner of the room before he parks it by the side of the hospital bed and sits in it. He puts his black messenger bag in his lap and takes out a familiar book, though this copy has dog-eared corners and various neon sticky notes peppering the pages.

"I'll start with what, in my opinion, doesn't work. On page eight, you mention a poltergeist with detached hands…"

Atsumu wiggles under the thin covers, making himself comfortable. He doesn't want to miss a single word that comes from Sakusa's mouth. His voice is low and smooth without any inflections. Some people may say that Sakusa's voice is monotonous and boring, but to Atsumu, it's calm; a baritone as steady and confident as the man it belongs to. Atsumu thinks he could listen to Sakusa talk forever and never get tired of it.

The tips of Sakusa's ears turn pink and he stumbles over his next two words. Oh, Atsumu must have spoken out loud. He smiles sleepily and whispers, "It's true, y'know."

Sakusa doesn't reply, doesn't even look up from the book, but he keeps laying out his critique, so that must mean he doesn't _hate_ it.

Atsumu tries to focus, but he's starting to get really drowsy as the new pain meds kick in. Before long, he finds himself nodding off in the midst of an explanation.

"Miya?"

"Mmrph?"

"Are you really falling asleep after asking me to give you my review in person?"

Atsumu is way too tired to grasp the words being spoken to him. His only concern, beyond sleeping, is: "Why don'ya c'll m' 'Tsumu, 'eryone 'lse does…"

"What?"

"Dun c'll me Miya n'more… 'm 'Tsumu…"

He doesn't catch Sakusa's reply because that's when he drifts off.

* * *

_**Kyoto native charged with attempted murder** _

_Article by: Fukui Tae | 42 min_

All of Japan was shaken last Friday by the news that Miya Atsumu, a popular young novelist whose new horror novel _The Black Parade_ debuted the same day, had to be rushed to the ER after an unknown assailant broke into his apartment complex early in the afternoon and stabbed him. His agent released a statement yesterday that he is stable and in good condition, and that it appears he will make a full recovery. The Osaka Police have finally identified the assaulter in question: Kaniwa Shin'ichirou, a 35 year-old native from the Kyoto Prefecture. Kaniwa has pleaded guilty to the charges of unlawful entry and attempted murder, and will be facing up to...

* * *

Atsumu gets discharged from the hospital a month later. Aftercare instructions include: no fried foods, no heavy meals, no artificial sugars, no strenuous exercise, no running, no jumping, no yoga, no activities that would put stress on his abdomen for another eight weeks. That's fine by him, he'll probably sleep a lot or sit on the couch and read a book or watch TV or…

Or consider the unfinished second novel sitting on his computer.

Despite the apartment getting cleaned up by professionals, Osamu doesn't feel safe letting Atsumu go back there again. So he makes space at his own place to accommodate Atsumu until they can find another, more secure apartment for him to occupy.

At first, Atsumu enjoys being able to order his twin around, but it gets old fast when he keeps catching Osamu giving him worried glances, like Atsumu will fall apart if he doesn't keep an eye on him at all times.

"I'm not made o' glass," the writer grumbles, eating the chicken rice porridge his brother gives him.

He misses the Osamu he grew up with, the one who would banter with him, roughhouse with him, call him out on his bullshit, make fun of his taste in music, insult his nonexistent cooking skills. This Osamu doesn't push him, doesn't kick him, doesn't call him disgusting, doesn't let him do any chores, doesn't sneak him fatty tuna when he's in a mood.

This Osamu is a stranger, and it's suffocating him.

Atsumu glumly reflects on his situation. He complains to Sakusa, to Twitter, to anyone who will hear him. But he's still confined to bed rest for the majority of the day because Osamu says so. Because he's the 'more sensible' twin (which is BS even if it’s true).

He finishes the porridge.

Asks for his laptop.

Gets a cheap ballpoint pen and a lined notebook instead.

"Samu," he says through gritted teeth, gripping the pen so hard that the plastic creaks under his fingers, _"give me my fuckin' laptop."_

"It's broken, Tsumu."

Atsumu stares at his twin, who can’t seem to look him in the eyes as he repeats the same sentence again. “What d’ya mean, _it’s broken,”_ he says, eerily calm. “Ya said ya got it from my apartment before ya brought me here.”

Osamu hesitates, and Atsumu can feel a pit forming in his stomach. “No. Samu, tell me ya didn’t,” he pleads. He _needs_ that laptop. That’s where the only copy of his unfinished second novel is. All of his other files have online backups, but not that story. “Tell me ya didn’t throw it away.”

His twin’s guilty silence is all the answer that he needs. “Why—what the _fuck,_ are ya fuckin’ with me right now? Ya threw my laptop away?!” Atsumu roars, getting to his feet and, ignoring the slight twinge in his belly, throwing the notebook and pen to the floor. He takes two steps forward and fists the front of Osamu’s shirt, jerking him forward. “Why the fuck would ya do that?! Ya know I need that to do my job!”

Osamu grabs his wrist, although he’s careful not to squeeze it too hard (which makes Atsumu even angrier). “Because how else’m I supposed ta protect ya?!” he screams back. “Yer famous, Tsumu! And it’s ‘cause yer so famous that ya got yerself inta this mess in the firs’ place!”

“I don’t need yer protection!” Atsumu spits venomously. “How d’ya think I feel right now? Ya tossed all my hard work away like it means nothin’!”

“How could ya possibly know how _I_ feel?” Osamu yells, tearing up. “How d’ya think _I_ felt when I saw yer still body in the doorway, surrounded by all the blood ya lost? I told ya, Tsumu, I really thought ya were dead! How d’ya think it felt ta be me in that situation, huh?! I thought I lost ya! Ya weren’t movin’, ya weren’t even breathin’, _ya fuckin’ died on the way to the hospital_ and they had to resuscitate ya! Twice! Look me in the eyes and fuckin’ tell me that ya don’t need protection after that. I care because I’m yer brother, and it would kill me if ya actually died, Tsumu.” Osamu’s voice steadily got more and more choked up the longer he talked.

Part of Atsumu is surprised (he died in the ambulance?), but by now, he’s far too hurt and angry to care about his lack of impulse control.

Anger makes you irrational. Anger makes you say things that you don’t mean. Anger makes you say things that you later regret. For Atsumu, the rage is all-consuming, like liquid fire in his veins burning him from the inside out. When he opens his mouth, the fire flows forth from within, scorching all in its path, words of acid impinging upon his only sibling with the fury of a thousand suns.

**_“Ya aren’t my brother.”_ **

Osamu freezes in place, mouth falling open in utter shock, “Wha—Tsumu…?”

Atsumu roughly brushes past him, heading into the bedroom to quickly grab his phone and wallet. When he comes back out, Osamu is still in the same spot. Atsumu strides past him and throws the front door open. That seems to snap his twin out of his funk.

“Tsumu? Where’re ya going?”

Atsumu slips on his shoes. Doesn’t reply. Doesn’t make a sound as he steps over the threshold.

“Wait, Tsumu, I’m sorry! Don’t go! Tsumu! Tsumu!”

Atsumu goes down the steps leading to the back door of Onigiri Miya.

“Please, come back! I’m sorry, Tsumu! _Atsumu!”_

How many times has he stopped and waited for Osamu to catch up when he calls his name? (Too many.) But he’s not going to stop this time.

This time, Atsumu walks away.

Behind him, Osamu continues to call his name over and over, begging him to come back, pleading for him not to leave his twin behind. His desperate wails grow fainter the further away he gets.

Atsumu doesn’t look back once.

* * *

> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> hey
> 
> can i ask ya fer a favor
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> If it’s a reasonable one.
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> can i crash at yer place tonight
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Aren’t you in Osaka?
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> got in a fight with samu
> 
> i’m on the bullet train to Tokyo
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> Absolutely not
> 
> I’m not going to play middleman for you
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> Please, Sakusa.
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> …
> 
> Fine
> 
> But only because you asked nicely
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> thanks
> 
> i owe ya one
> 
> **[Omi-Omi]**
> 
> You owe me more than that
> 
> I’ll pick you up when you get here
> 
> But you’re going to tell me what happened between you two
> 
> And you have to follow my rules
> 
> If you don’t, I’ll kick you to the curb
> 
> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> got it
> 
> i won’t get in yer way
> 
> i promise

* * *

Sakusa is easy to spot through a crowd because of how tall he is. He’s standing in a secluded spot by a pillar, both hands tucked into the pockets of a bright blue bomber jacket, glaring at anyone who dares to come within a three-foot radius of him. As he approaches the book critic, Atsumu takes out the little bottle of hand sanitizer he had purchased before stepping on the train.

“Omi-kun,” he greets, lacking his usual cheer. “If I sanitize my hands, will you let me touch you?”

Sakusa’s gaze zeroes in on the bottle dangling from Atsumu’s fingers. “Make it quick,” he says, taking one gloved hand out of his pocket.

Atsumu squirts a good amount on his palm and rubs it into his skin vigorously. He tucks the little bottle away and reaches out to gently take a hold of the hand that Sakusa is holding out. He can feel the man’s warmth through the thin latex. It soothes the ragged edges of the hole in his heart that Atsumu hadn’t even known was there until he had set foot on the train that would take him far away from Osamu. He feels a little more grounded now, rather than teetering on an uncertain edge, not knowing if he’s going to fall or not.

“Thanks,” he breathes, closing his eyes and counting to ten. When he’s done, he opens his eyes and lets go. “I needed that.”

Sakusa shoves his hand back into his pocket and starts walking towards the exit. “Let’s go, I haven’t got all day.”

Atsumu trails after him without another word.

Sakusa’s apartment turns out to be in a recently-constructed complex within walking distance of the bullet train station. Atsumu can feel Sakusa’s eyes flickering over to him every so often in puzzlement as they continue to walk in silence. It’s not hard to guess why—normally Atsumu would be chattering his ear off about anything and everything, interspersed with bad pick-up lines and flirty remarks, but today, he feels too drained from his fight with Osamu to find the energy to speak at all. He’d rather save the emotional conversation for when they’re back to Sakusa’s place, away from prying eyes and ears. He can already see a few people pointing at them and whispering, phones out, cameras clicking, because _isn’t that Miya Atsumu?_ and _who’s that next to him?_ are questions people are going to ask.

“Sorry if I bring the paparazzi to yer door,” he says.

“That’s not a problem, my building has enforced security. Unauthorized personnel are not allowed on the premises,” Sakusa replies without missing a beat.

“Oh, that’s good.”

Sakusa lives in a unit on the second floor, only because he doesn’t want to have to take the elevator to the ground floor every day. He can just use the stairs. Atsumu takes the stairs slowly, careful of his still-healing injury. He knows he’s already aggravated it a bit leaving Osamu’s place so quickly, but he hadn’t felt any pain while in that red-hot haze of sheer fury.

Now though, there’s a bit of uncomfortable itching that he can feel through his jeans, mostly around the angry red scar where the wound used to be. He grits his teeth and climbs on.

Atsumu doesn’t know what he’s expecting when he steps into Sakusa’s apartment, but the unlived-in feel of the place isn’t it. It’s clean, of course, but in a way that makes the entire apartment feel sterile. Atsumu slips off his shoes at the genkan, taking the pair of plain white slippers that Sakusa offers to him.

“I’m guessing you came here with nothing but the clothes on your back,” Sakusa sighs, hip cocked to the side. “I’ll lend you a change of clothes for tonight. Wash up and then we’ll talk.”

Atsumu nods wordlessly, following the taller man to the bathroom. Sakusa hands him a spare set of clothing, a small plastic bag, and a clean towel before he shuts the door.

The bathroom is a decent size, bright white tiles and smoky gray stones perfectly accentuating each other. Various skin care products are neatly organized on the marbled countertop. The shower takes up the entire back wall, with clear glass sliding doors and a polished, detachable showerhead that’s set a little higher than usual due to the apartment occupant’s unusual height.

The water heats up almost instantly, which is surprising because Atsumu’s used to the shower taking at least two minutes to come to an acceptable temperature. He throws his clothes into the plastic bag and steps under the blissfully hot spray, letting the water wash the day’s stress away.

Twenty happy, mindless minutes later, Atsumu steps out of the bathroom, pink-cheeked and glowing, wet hair resembling a rat’s nest. He tosses the dirty laundry into Sakusa’s washer (because the other man refuses to wash his clothes for him), pours in the detergent, and lets it run. Then he seats himself on one end of Sakusa’s L-shaped couch.

“Tea, Miya?”

Atsumu looks over his shoulder to see Sakusa coming over with two fresh mugs, little wisps of steam curling from the top. “What, no coffee?” he jokes, feeling some of his usual clown energy returning to him.

“For you, no.” Sakusa deposits one of the mugs in Atsumu’s waiting hands, then goes to sit on the other side of the couch. He unhooks his mask and takes a slow sip, humming in appreciation. Atsumu watches him for a moment, taking in his dark curls and dark brows and equally dark eyes. He takes a sip of his own tea, wincing as the scalding hot liquid scorches his tongue and forces him to stick it out and fan it rapidly.

A soft snort from Sakusa’s direction has Atsumu turning towards him with wide eyes. Did he just make _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ laugh?

Sakusa attempts to cover up by taking another sip of his tea. “Well, let’s hear it. What happened with you and your brother?”

Some of the anger resurfaces at the memory, but it feels muted now. Atsumu reclines against the back of the couch. “Ya remember when ya gave me those two American quotes? I kinda figured that ya were probably tellin’ me not to waste my time panderin’ to the audience, and I should just write somethin’ because I wanna write it. But why choose one o’er the other when I can do both? So I did. _The Black Parade_ was somethin’ I wanted to write for the public, an’ I was workin’ on something else that I wanted to write just because. It wasn’t finished. An’ now, I’ll never get ta finish it,” he trails off sourly. “Fuckin’ Samu thought it was a good idea to throw my laptop away. _My_ laptop! I didn’t have a backup fer the thing that I was working on, and now it’s fuckin’ gone. The twat tried to lie to me ‘bout it, too. An’ for what? To _protect_ me? I don’t need protection, least of all his.” Atsumu can feel his hands shaking, so he puts the mug down on the coffee table before he accidentally drops it and gets yelled at by Sakusa.

“I was real mad, so I booked the first train outta there that I could. Didn’t bring nothin’ with me but my phone an’ my wallet. I don’t even have my charger. I just… I don’ think that I could be in a room with him righ’ now.”

Sakusa listens attentively. Atsumu does surprisingly feel better having gotten all that off of his chest. He drinks his no-longer-boiling-hot tea and adds, "It's hard growin' up with someone actin' a certain way, then turnin' a 180 on ya after one injury. I really miss the old Samu. He just… hasn't been the same. Since I got stabbed."

"Well," Sakusa begins evenly, "it sounds to me like he's just worried about you."

For a single horrible moment, Atsumu feels betrayed. If this guy sides with Samu, then no matter how attractive he is, it won’t stop Atsumu from getting up right now and walking out.

“However,” Sakusa continues, seemingly unaware of Atsumu’s inner turmoil, “taking your laptop away and throwing it in the trash in a misguided attempt to protect you is highly uncalled for.”

Atsumu lightens up upon hearing that. “I’m glad yer seein’ my side o’ things, Omi-kun,” he says.

Sakusa drains his mug, then puts it on the coffee table. “That being said, you’re going to have to go back and work things out with him eventually. The main problem seems to be that he discarded your laptop without considering what might be on it. Did you actually see him throw it away or did he tell you he did?”

“I—didn’t see ‘im do it. But he didn’t say otherwise when I asked ‘bout it either,” Atsumu grumbles.

Sakusa’s eyebrows arch ever so slightly, bringing attention to the two little moles dotting his forehead as they ripple with the movement. “So you assumed he did it, and ran away,” he states, a hint of sarcasm threading through his voice. “Really, Miya?”

Atsumu’s cheeks grow hot. “He didn’t say he _didn’t!”_ he tries to defend himself.

“You sound like a misbehaving child.”

“I—shaddup!” Atsumu crosses his arms petulantly. “This is important ta me, y’know!”

Sakusa sighs, reaching up to rub two fingers against his right temple, “Atsumu.”

The writer freezes, his mouth falling open in surprise. “Ya called me ‘Atsumu’,” he says, full of wonder. It had been so quick that Atsumu wishes he could rewind time just to hear his name come from Sakusa’s mouth again. “Omi-kun, I’m so… say it again?”

_“Atsumu,”_ Sakusa repeats, sending Atsumu’s heart stumbling over itself in his chest. He knows that he’s probably staring at Sakusa like a lovestruck fool right now, a dopey little smile on his face, feeling a warmth burn low in his belly that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with how fond he is of this man that he’s come to know over the course of several months, ever since he found that slip of paper in his pocket with Sakusa’s phone number scrawled across it. “You know you can always rewrite whatever you were working on, right?”

Atsumu blinks. “Huh?”

“You said that you were working on something else other than _The Black Parade_ and that’s the core of why you were so angry about the laptop. But you’re the one who wrote it in the first place, which means the ideas are still in your head somewhere. If you did it once, you can do it again,” Sakusa explains a little impatiently.

“But it won’t be the same,” Atsumu says, frowning.

Sakusa shrugs, picking up his mug so he can wash it. “Then make it better. Final drafts are always better than rough drafts,” he replies.

Atsumu turns his head so that he can stare at Sakusa’s back. “Yer actually pretty good at this, Omi-kun,” he says thoughtfully. He picks up his own mug and follows Sakusa to the kitchen. “Sayin' the things that people need to hear, I mean.”

“Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t be good at my job.” Sakusa slips on his dish gloves and pours a dollop of orange dish soap on a sponge. He scrubs the mug thoroughly.

Atsumu laughs quietly, “I knew I liked ya fer a reason, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa turns pink and scrubs even harder. “Don’t call me that,” he says, a knee-jerk reaction to the nickname.

“Sure, Omi-kun.”

After washing the mug, Atsumu checks his phone. He winces when he sees all the missed calls and messages.

**_18 missed calls from inferior miya_ **

**_14 missed calls from Bokuto_ **

**_10 missed calls from Hinata_ **

**_2 missed calls from Ushiwaka_ **

**_1 missed call from Kuroo_ **

**_1 missed call from SunaRin_ **

**_1 missed call from Kita-san_ **

**_1 missed call from Oikawa_ **

**_1 missed call from Boss Meian_ **

**_10 new voicemails_ **

**_37 new text messages_ **

> **[inferior miya]**
> 
> tsumu pls pick up
> 
> please
> 
> i’m sorry
> 
> i don’t know where ya are
> 
> please come back
> 
> i’m really sorry
> 
> i’ll do anything just come back
> 
> please i miss ya
> 
> i’m sorry
> 
> i don’t want ya to hate me tsumu
> 
> i was wrong
> 
> pls answer
> 
> **[Bokuto]**
> 
> Hey Tsum-Tsum, I got a call from Myaa-sam
> 
> You aren’t picking up anyone’s calls but
> 
> At least text us back and tell us you’re okay, yeah?
> 
> We’re worried about you
> 
> **[Hinata]**
> 
> Atsumu-san!
> 
> i don’t know what’s going on between you and Osamu-san
> 
> but I hope you make up soon!
> 
> fighting sucks :(
> 
> **[Ushiwaka]**
> 
> Atsumu-kun, let me know if you’re safe.
> 
> **[Kuroo]**
> 
> Where are you?
> 
> I’ll come get you if I need to
> 
> **[SunaRin]**
> 
> Atsumu, please at least turn your location back on
> 
> Osamu won’t stop crying
> 
> I don’t know where you went but I hope you’re safe
> 
> Please let us know soon
> 
> **[Kita-san]**
> 
> Atsumu, now is not the time to be fighting with your brother.
> 
> Take some time to cool down if you must, but both of you should work this out in person.
> 
> Take care.
> 
> **[Oikawa]**
> 
> Atsu-chan, are you safe?
> 
> You better not be lying dead in a ditch somewhere
> 
> My heart can’t take that
> 
> **[Boss Meian]**
> 
> Miya, are you okay?
> 
> Your twin just called our office asking where you were
> 
> Did something happen?

Atsumu does feel a bit like an asshole for turning location sharing off and muting his phone, but in his defense, he hadn’t been in a good headspace the whole way to Tokyo. Now that he’s calmed down some, without the veil of anger hovering over him, he can think more clearly. He’s not ready to go back to Osaka so soon (and the train fare is pretty expensive even for a one-way trip), but he’d be a dick if he didn’t at least let his friends know that he was okay. They did all have a major scare because of his stabbing incident a little over a month ago.

> **[Atsumu]**
> 
> hey guys, i’m fine
> 
> don’t worry bout me
> 
> i’m with omi-kun

He sends out the mass text to everyone except his boss, to whom he just says that he had a disagreement with his brother and he’s staying with a friend in Tokyo until he cools off.

As if they'd been waiting for a response, his phone gets absolutely flooded with incoming messages ranging from Bokuto's _you're in Tokyo??_ to Oikawa's _oh I see how it is ;)._ Osamu tries to call him again, but Atsumu rejects him, because it's way too soon to open up that can of worms.

He does pick up Ushijima's third phone call though, because the older man is the most likely person to be calm about the whole thing. "Hey, Ushiwaka," he says. "Sorry fer worryin' everybody. I'm fine, Omi-kun is lettin' me stay at his apartment tonight."

"Good to hear, his apartment's security is excellent. Are you feeling better now?" Ushijima's steady tenor relaxes Atsumu, releasing the tension from his shoulders.

"Yeah. Thanks fer checkin' on me."

"Not a problem. Take care of yourself, Atsumu-kun." Ushijima hangs up.

Atsumu lets his head thud back against the couch. Now that that's out of the way, there's another problem: mainly, where he's going to sleep. Sakusa's apartment has only one bedroom, and he doubts there's an extra bed for him considering he hadn't given the man much advance notice. Which leaves this couch, but it's L-shaped and definitely not built for sleeping on, especially for people like him who are giants among men. The floor is all laminated wood (probably because it's easier to clean than carpet). Maybe he can ask for some blankets to cover the floor. It'll be like sleeping on a futon, kind of.

"Miya."

"Aw, not gonna keep callin' me 'Atsumu'?" Atsumu pouts, tilting his head to look at Sakusa. "I like hearin' my name come outta yer mouth."

"Don't push your luck with those dirty jokes," Sakusa says, giving him an unimpressed stare. "How's your injury?"

Atsumu pats his stomach. "It's mostly healed. The scar itches sometimes, but nothin' I can't handle. I'm just not supposed ta do anythin' that'll put stress on my abdominal muscles fer like two months. So uh, can I borrow some blankets ta sleep with? Yer couch would probably kill my back, but the floor should be okay—"

Sakusa makes a face like he just bit into a raw bitter melon. "I suppose if it's on doctor's orders, I can allow you to sleep on my bed just this once," he grudgingly says.

Atsumu's jaw drops. "Wait, fer real?! Where are ya gonna sleep then? I'm not gonna take yer bed if it means making ya sleep on yer own floor!" he protests, waving his arms around wildly.

Sakusa looks away, huffing. "...The bed's big enough for two people," he mutters, face pinking.

_The bed’s big enough for two people._

_The bed. Is big enough. For two people._

Atsumu's brain completely short-circuits. ( _Atsumu.exe has stopped working.)_

Sleeping in the same bed as his crush. Sleeping in the same bed as the guy he's been lusting after for _months._ Sleeping in the same bed as the guy who he is possibly (probably) in love with. This… can't end well.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, depending on how you look at it), Atsumu has never had a working brain-to-mouth filter. So after five awkward minutes of staring incomprehensibly at Sakusa, all he manages to say is, "Omi-Omi, if ya wanted to sleep with me that badly, ya coulda just said so."

Sakusa shoots him the dirtiest glare he can manage. "Never mind, I take it back. You can have the floor. It's perfect for a parasite like you."

"Nuh-uh, no takebacks!" Atsumu says gleefully, getting up from the couch. "Ya already invited me, now ya can't get rid o' me."

"I already strongly regret this."

Atsumu laughs loudly, eyes squeezing shut as the warmth in his belly transforms from a little candle to a roaring campfire. The hole in his heart is still there, the edges as jarringly raw as his scar, but he’s glad that he hasn't lost the ability to feel joy and genuine happiness. He feels _alive_ again.

When he opens his eyes, Sakusa is giving him an indecipherable look, eyes slightly wide, mouth parted just the tiniest bit. "Like whatcha see?" he teases.

"Don't kid yourself, there's nothing to see," Sakusa says, turning away, but Atsumu can see that the tips of his ears and the back of his neck are red. Huh, maybe his crush isn't so one-sided after all.

"Omi-kun, yer so cute," he says, unable to help himself.

Sakusa whips back around, eyebrows scrunched in disgust. "Don't call me _cute,"_ he hisses. But there’s an unmistakable red flush of embarrassment across his face, which stands out easily against his pale skin. Atsumu wants to coo at him, because Sakusa I-feel-no-emotions Kiyoomi is actually _embarrassed_ and god, that’s adorable, and that’s just not fair because he’s making Atsumu sink even deeper into feelings hell without trying.

So Atsumu laughs again, not just at the indignant scowl on Sakusa’s face, but because he’s fallen too far to want to get back up again, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

It's one thing to say the bed is big enough for two people; it's another to actually fit two, fully-grown, six-foot-something men on to said bed.

In the end, they have to settle for keeping a scant inch of space between them, elbows brushing, their fingertips almost touching. Atsumu doesn't have to look at Sakusa to know that the other man is tense, unused to sharing his bed space with another person. Atsumu grew up with Osamu practically attached at the hip, so he's more than used to not having personal space.

It's quiet. Neither of them seem to be able to fall asleep. Atsumu thinks about his unpublished novel, the one that's lost now. _Then make it better,_ Sakusa's voice echoes. Let it be known that Miya Atsumu doesn't back down from a challenge, and that's definitely a challenge if he ever saw one. It still hurts to lose something so dear to his heart, something that he had spent countless hours on, something that he'd been pouring his heart and soul into creating, but maybe… maybe it was meant to be this way. He's been feeling emotions more viscerally than ever—the joy, the pain, the heartbreak, the anger, the frustration, the sadness—and now that he knows what it feels like to be stabbed (never again, please and thank you, it royally sucked), he thinks that it'll be even easier to write something from the heart.

In fact (he glances over at Sakusa, pages and pages of dedications flitting through his mind from the countless books he's read) maybe he can write this new one _for_ Sakusa, rather than the public. For the man that he adores, who has helped him so much. It'll be a confession befitting the greatest romance novels in history.

He can hear Sakusa's breathing begin to slow down, physical exhaustion outweighing the unfamiliar feeling of sleeping in the same bed as another person. Atsumu should be more exhausted considering the day's events, but he's not quite tired enough to sleep yet. He waits for Sakusa to fall asleep first.

He doesn't know how long he lays in the dark, but once he hears the other man breathe quietly and steadily, he shifts on his side so that he's facing Sakusa. The siren call of sleep is starting to tug at him too, but he ignores it.

Atsumu pauses to make sure the man is really asleep, then gently laces their fingers together. He brushes a stray curl out of Sakusa's face with his other hand. It’s dark, but Atsumu can still see the elegant slope of his nose, the curve of his cheek where it’s turned into the pillow. "Kiyoomi," he whispers, closing his eyes, the words slipping out like a prayer into the night. "I think… I'm in love with ya."

Then he drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

They don’t talk about it the next morning. Atsumu wakes late, the clock nearing noon, and the other half of the bed has long gone cold. He shuffles into the bathroom with a yawn, snagging his freshly-cleaned clothes from their spot on top of the hallway stand. He spends the next fifteen minutes under the hot shower spray, thoroughly cleaning himself up. He even takes one of the sanitizing wipes and runs it over the towel bar, the toilet, and the sink counter, determined not to be a bad guest.

Sakusa is in the middle of cooking something when he finally steps out. “Mornin’,” Atsumu says, depositing the borrowed clothes and his used towel into the washer to be done later. “Smells good. Whatcha makin’?”

“Nothing for you,” the man quips.

“Eh, why?” Atsumu whines. “That’s poor hospitality, Omi-kun!”

“Like I care.” Despite his cutting remarks, there’s two plates on the counter, each with a pile of fresh rice in the center. Sakusa carefully flips the omelet in the pan over the rice, then starts the second one. Steam rises gently from the plate, filling the air with a savory scent that makes Atsumu’s mouth water.

The second omelet is finished in no time. Sakusa ladles homemade tomato relish over the top and adds a sprinkle of sesame furikake. He extends a plate to Atsumu, who takes it with great care.

“Thanks, Omi-Omi!” Atsumu sits at the table and digs in. The first bite has him moaning like a whore (which, to his amusement, makes Sakusa turn as red as the relish on his omelet). “Omi-kun, please marry me.”

“No thanks,” Sakusa huffs, eyes narrowed. “And keep your obscene noises to yourself.”

Atsumu snickers. “What, can’t handle the heat?” He exaggerates the sound just for the fun of it, watching in delight as red stains Sakusa’s cheeks.

“Just eat your food already so you can leave,” the book critic snaps.

“So cold, Omi-kun!”

Atsumu shuts up though, because he wants to savor every bite of this home-cooked meal before he has to get back on the bullet train, this time heading home to Onigiri Miya in Osaka. Back to Osamu, and away from Sakusa. But this time, he isn’t hurt and angry and wanting to get away. This time, he’s ready to tackle the problem, like an adult. _And_ he knows exactly what he’s going to do for the new second novel, so the loss of his unfinished draft doesn’t ache as much as it did yesterday.

Before he knows it, he and Sakusa are standing outside of the station. Atsumu vaguely remembers how to get around, so he’ll be parting ways with the other man outside. Sakusa definitely looks like he would be all too happy to never set foot inside a crowded train station ever again.

“Thanks fer lettin’ me stay the night, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, shooting off a message to Osamu that he’s on his way back. He tucks his phone into his pocket and grins. “The next time we meet, it’ll be after I’ve written the best book you’ll ever read.”

Sakusa snorts, “In your dreams, maybe.”

“Why, Omi-Omi, I never knew ya wanted ta be featured in my dreams so much,” Atsumu teases, eyes scrunching up with mirth.

“Get lost, you menace.”

“Alright, alright, jeez, no need ta sound so excited,” Atsumu laughs, taking a step forward. He stops, turns around. Sakusa is watching him with those dark, dark eyes, a new mask covering the lower half of his face. He’s wearing a yellow jacket this time, not the windbreaker from Oikawa’s picture because it’s not cold enough for that, but a different one. The jacket is thin with black stripes running down the length of his arms and the line of the zipper down his torso. He’s in sweatpants because he can’t be bothered to dress up when he’s just walking Atsumu back to the station, not actually going anywhere important, but even then, he looks unfairly attractive. The midday sun strikes his curls at just the right angle, making them gleam honey-gold in the light.

Atsumu is seized with the desire to act. He takes the step back, bringing him in front of Sakusa. “Omi-kun, can I… can I hug ya?” he asks, arms raised slightly. “I know ya don’t like touchin’, but just this once?”

Sakusa stares at him, shuts his eyes, and sighs. “Just this once,” he allows, opening his eyes again.

Atsumu wastes no time jumping on the opportunity. He pitches forward, both arms coming up and encircling Sakusa’s lean torso. He hooks his chin over the taller man’s shoulder, and just stands there holding him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Sakusa stiffens underneath his touch, spine going ramrod straight for the first few seconds. But after a bit, his arms awkwardly come up behind him, hugging Atsumu back.

Atsumu is utterly overjoyed. He presses himself close, breathing in the familiar scent of disinfectant and fresh detergent, and tries to embed this moment into his mind forever. Before he lets go, he says softly, “See ya later, Kiyoomi.”

When he pulls back, Sakusa doesn’t seem like he knows what to do with his hands now that he’s no longer holding Atsumu. He stuffs them into his jacket pockets, feigning nonchalance. Atsumu stifles a laugh at that. He turns to walk into the station for real this time.

Behind him, he hears Sakusa whisper, “See you, Atsumu.” The words are muffled by the mask, but Atsumu hears them all the same.

He walks off with a smile, head up, shoulders straight and proud. He’s going home as a new man.

* * *

**_Miya Atsumu seen being lovey-dovey with another man!_ **

_Article by: Kikuraja Kentarou | 1 hour ago_

Despite his popularity as a rising star in the world of fiction writing, Miya Atsumu has kept his personal life rather quiet. The only thing that is publicly known is that Miya has a twin brother named Miya Osamu, who owns an onigiri shop in Osaka called Onigiri Miya.

On Friday, Miya was spotted at the Tokyo Shinkansen Station near the Nihombashi Ticket Gate, in the company of a man in a neon-blue jacket. The identity of the man is currently unknown, but they appeared to be friends. Today, the two were once again seen at the Tokyo Shinkansen Station, but before parting ways, they embraced! Could this man be Miya Atsumu’s new beau? What does this mean for all the ladies vying for the young author’s affections? Check back later for more updates!

* * *

The moment Atsumu sets foot back in Osaka, he’s almost crushed by 180 pounds of twin brother leaping on him. “Ouch! Samu, ya fuckin’ asshole, warn a guy next time!” he complains, rubbing the back of his head where he hit it against a pole.

Osamu backs off sheepishly, thumbing away the tears in his eyes. “Sorry, Tsumu. Welcome back.”

Witnessing this happy reunion is Suna, who had accompanied Osamu to the station as emotional support. He strides up to Atsumu, offers a greeting, then punches him on the shoulder.

Atsumu’s yelp is loud enough to attract attention from passing travelers. “What was that fer, Sunarin?” he hisses, rubbing at his shoulder.

“That was for being a dick and making everyone worry about you yesterday,” Suna says calmly. He punches Atsumu again, but on the opposite shoulder this time. “And that was for making Osamu cry like a baby last night. He spent all day thinking that you hated him, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know, I got yer texts,” Atsumu replies, rolling his eyes. “But wasn’t in the mood fer talkin’ after the fight we had. Can ya blame me?”

“Nah, I just wanted to punch you.” Suna dodges the kick that Atsumu aims his way with a laugh.

“Asshole,” Atsumu mutters under his breath.

"How was it stayin' with Sakusa?" Osamu asks as they make their way out of the station. "Ain't he mysophobic?"

“Did he make you clean his entire apartment after you graced it with your filthy self?” Suna says, tongue-in-cheek.

Atsumu flips him off. “Screw ya, Sunarin! Fer yer information, he let me sleep with him!”

Suna arches a sardonic eyebrow. “For real? Boy, you sure do move fast when you want to, ‘Tsumu,” he whistles, smirking.

“Ew, keep yer gross shit ta yerself, ya nasty,” Osamu says right after.

“Not like that, ya jerks!” Atsumu howls as Suna and Osamu high-five in front of him. “We slept in the same bed, that’s it! Get yer filthy minds outta the gutter!”

“Ya mean ya had a hot piece o’ ass in bed with ya, but all ya did was _sleep?”_ Osamu shakes his head in faux disappointment. “Really, what’m I gonna do with ya, Tsumu.”

“Ya mean, what would ya do without me, ya crybaby,” Atsumu snarks back. All three of them break out into peals of laughter. They aren’t addressing the elephant in the room quite just yet, but for now, it feels right being like this, back to joking and teasing each other like yesterday’s fight had never happened.

Suna drives them back to Onigiri Miya from the Shin-Osaka Shinkansen Station. He drops them off, warning them to play nice and make up now. “I’m not getting paid to sit through all of your twin drama, so hug it out and go back to being a thorn in everyone’s side,” he says as he leaves.

“Fuck off,” Atsumu mutters as Osamu says, “Thanks fer the ride, Suna.”

After Suna leaves, the twins enter the shop. Osamu had temporarily closed yesterday and today because of the fight, so they have the space to themselves.

“Are ya hungry, Tsumu? I’ll make some onigiri for ya.” Osamu takes an apron off the hook in the kitchen and ties it around his waist.

“Better be negitoro.”

“‘Course it will, that’s the only one yer dumbass likes.”

“Hey!”

Atsumu watches his brother putter around behind the counter, washing the rice, setting it in the cooker, chopping spring onions, mincing a chunk of fatty tuna, and cooking the tuna in a little pan with a sprinkle of salt. It’s familiar and comforting to watch his brother without the film of hurt and anger clouding his vision. Atsumu knows it’s comforting for Osamu, too, to be doing something that he enjoys while having his only sibling back where he belongs. He catches Osamu looking over his shoulder several times, as if reassuring himself that Atsumu is still here, and Atsumu just grins and teases him like the old days.

Before long, a platter of four fresh onigiri slides in front of him, the gentle smell of rice and tuna wafting from food. Atsumu closes his eyes, inhaling the delicious scent. A stray thought crosses his mind right at that moment: someday, he’d like to bring Sakusa here. He thinks—no, he _knows_ that Sakusa would enjoy Osamu’s killer umeboshi onigiri. He resolves to make it come true one day.

He opens his eyes and takes his first glorious bite of Osamu’s onigiri. It tastes like love and peace.

Afterwards, Osamu locks up again and they climb the stairs to the apartment. Before Osamu fishes out the keys to open the door, he turns to face Atsumu on the top step. “Tsumu,” he says quietly, “ya’ve heard me say this already, but I wanna say it again: ‘m sorry fer gettin’ rid o’ yer computer. I was just scared that somethin’ might happen again if ya kept goin’ ahead with yer dreams.”

This time, Atsumu accepts the apology as it comes. “Yeah, ‘m sorry, too. Fer sayin’ ya weren’t my brother. I knew I worried ya when I got stabbed; I was just bein’ an angry brat. Yer actually the best brother I could ever ask fer, Samu,” he says back.

Osamu smiles, relieved. He holds his arms out for a hug. “Bros before prose?”

Atsumu laughs and agrees. “Bros before prose.”

They embrace, driving the memories of the argument from their minds at last, and enter the threshold together, side by side, as they’ve always been.

* * *

Time passes into spring. Atsumu finishes the manuscript for the new novel while watching the blossoming sakura trees wave their flower-laden branches outside the window of his new apartment.

This apartment is much nicer than the last one; not only does it have better security, but it’s situated in a better part of the city. What really sold Atsumu on this complex though, is the rooftop garden on the very top floor. Hundreds of flowers and other greenery span the length of the floor, with benches placed along the winding paths, interspersed with little fountains. There're several bookshelves in the center square, accompanied by two swinging benches and the plushest armchairs that Atsumu’s ever sat in. A reader’s paradise (and a writer’s, too).

Sales of _The Black Parade_ ended up surpassing _We Don’t Need the Memories_ by nearly two-fold after the stabbing incident and a short 5-sec clip of him hugging Sakusa in front of the Tokyo Shinkansen Station went viral. Even the Black Jackals Publishers were surprised by how much his book sales got boosted, outselling the previous year’s profits by an unbelievable 160 percent.

The first official trailer for the film adaptation of _We Don’t Need the Memories_ dropped a week ago, and it made Atsumu cry watching his characters come to life on the big screen. He had sent several messy texts to Sakusa blubbering about how moved he is that one of his novels is getting a movie debut.

(“I’m not surprised, _We Don’t Need the Memories_ is your best work, in my opinion.”

“Did Omi-kun just praise me? Ya sure know how to make a guy blush!”

“Stop talking and get back to writing, idiot.”)

Atsumu thumbs through his manuscript, stopping on the very last page. Not the page where the novel ends, but where he hopes that something else will begin.

_To Sakusa Kiyoomi_

_my light, my love, Omi-Omi_

_who never fails to make me a better person_

_who always challenges me to rise to greater heights_

_who takes the words of yesterday and turns them to the morrow_

_this book is from me to you_

_i am yours forevermore_

Atsumu goes to open the window so he can smell the cherry blossoms and watch them drift in the breeze, thousands of tiny pink petals littering the walkways and turning the complex into a dream-like paradise.

This is it, this is the moment of truth. He’ll send the manuscript to his editor, they’ll decide on the artwork for the cover (Atsumu already has a few ideas), and once the book is set to hit the shelves, a copy will be given to Itachiyama. It’s an unspoken agreement by now that Sakusa will be the only critic at Itachiyama who gets to formally review and publish a critique on his books. Atsumu had fallen off his bed laughing when Sakusa had called him to complain about how his co-workers and even his boss had begun poking fun at him after the five-second video starting trending on the internet.

(“Yer a media sensation now, Omi-kun! Embrace it!”

“I hate you.”)

Atsumu looks at the dedication again and smiles. He hopes that this time, Sakusa will accept his feelings.

* * *

**_Official Black Jackals Publishing_ ✔ ** **@blackjackpublishers | 8 hrs**

Miya Atsumu’s newest work goes on sale today! Shop _On Love and Onigiri_ at your nearest bookstore and don’t forget the tissues when you read it!

10.3k comments 119.5k retweets 482.6k likes

> **_cry me a river_** **@jjcoconuts | 7 hrs**
> 
> WHY AM I CRYING WHY U GOTTA DO ME LIKE THIS
> 
> 3.8k comments 25.1k retweets 81.1k likes
> 
> **_the mythical jackalope_** **@mrincrediblydumb | 7 hrs**
> 
> this book is a goddamn love letter, my heart why
> 
> 3.9k comments 25.3k retweets 82.4 likes
> 
> **_miya pls step on me_** **@kenji_boo | 5 hrs**
> 
> i’m heartbroken, why do all the good ones hafta be taken
> 
> 132 comments 1.4k retweets 2.7k likes
>
>> _**miya atsumu's #1 stan** _ **@mammamiya | 5 hrs**
>> 
>> @kenji_boo welcome to the Miya Atsumu Hopeless Crush club, my good sir
>> 
>> 200 comments 1.9k retweets 4.1k likes
> 
> **_HOOT me up_** 🦉✔ **@bkbeam | 6 hrs**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu GET IT TSUM-TSUM!!!!!
> 
> 7.2k comments 78.4k retweets 263.3k likes
> 
> **_power curry is the only curry_ ✔** **@kageyama.tobio | 5 hrs**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu @nin_nin_shouyou is crying too much to say something, this is your fault 
> 
> 5.9k comments 61.2k retweets 208.5k likes
>
>> **_i am sunshine boi_ 🌞🏐✔** **@nin_nin_shouyou | 5 hrs**
>> 
>> @kageyama.tobio SHUT UP BAKAGEYAMA, U CRIED 2
>> 
>> 1.4k comments 7.2k retweets 35.3k likes
> 
> **_the thirst is real for this one_ 🍙✔** **@onigiri_miya | 4 hrs**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu if ya don't have a SO by the end of the night, I'm disowning ya
> 
> 3.3k comments 54.6k retweets 194.1k likes
> 
> **_that one guy_** ✔ **@sunarinbby | 3 hrs**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu u would write a book to confess hahahaha #sakuatsu #letsgo
> 
> 2.5k comments 47.8k retweets 145.1k likes
> 
> **_get your gayme on_** ✔ **@officialkodzuken | 3 hrs**
> 
> Time to make a new trending tag #sakuatsu
> 
> 5.1k comments 58k retweets 210.6k likes
>
>> **_small giant supremacy_ 👊✔** **@hoshiumi.k | 3 hrs**
>> 
>> New ship tag?? COUNT ME IN #SAKUATSU
>> 
>> 992 comments 13.9k retweets 43.4k likes
> 
> **_my mikans are better than yours_** **@onami | 2 hrs**
> 
> can we all just take a moment to appreciate these twins @official_miyaatsumu @onigiri_miya
> 
> 63 comments 216 retweets 5.7k likes
> 
> **_krunch wrap supreme_** **@ieatallmyveggies | 2 hrs**
> 
> omg this is the ship I never knew I wanted #sakuatsu
> 
> 73 comments 330 retweets 6.6k likes
> 
> **_schrodinger's cat_** 🐈✔ **@kurooster | 1 hr**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu way to raise the bar on how to confess to your crush lmao #sakuatsu
> 
> 3.1k comments 52.1k retweets 177.5k likes

* * *

**_Miya Atsumu's_** **On Love and Onigiri** **_breaks the world record for most copies of a fiction novel sold in the first 24 hours_**

_Article by: Mingchu Leung | 25 minutes ago_

This rising author came into the spotlight very abruptly and hasn't left it since: Japan's famous _Miya Atsumu_ (Atsumu Miya for English readers). Rumors about the writer's private life have been floating around for months after a five second video of Miya embracing another man at Tokyo's main bullet train station went viral, garnering almost a million views in its first 24 hours. Last Monday, Miya's newest novel appeared to confirm one of the rumors: that Miya is dating the other man seen in the video clip. The dedication page at the end of _On Love and Onigiri_ is proof of this.

The novel itself is a complete masterpiece. Not just because of the beautiful imagery used throughout, but because Miya really went all out to incite a truly intense rollercoaster of emotions within the reader. In the words of the head of the Black Jackals Publishers, "it [is] impossible to read this novel without crying at least twice." And it's true; not a dry eye was seen among my coworkers after we all binge-read the novel. Many tissues were used up that day.

With such raving reviews, it's no wonder that _On Love and Onigiri_ claimed the Guinness World Record for fastest selling fiction book in the first 24 hours, with a whopping 10 million copies sold in a single day, dethroning J.K. Rowling's _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows,_ which has held the record for the past 15 years…

* * *

It's Thursday night, and Atsumu has yet to hear anything from Sakusa in the past four days since _On Love and Onigiri_ 's official bookstore debut. Did he like it? Hate it? Never want anything to do with Atsumu ever again? He's understandably nervous about how Sakusa would perceive it, especially with a dedication page dedicated specifically to him.

Atsumu doesn't know what he'll do if Sakusa still rejects him after this. He thinks he'll probably be worse than heartbroken if that happens. He had poured _everything_ into that book, laid himself bare, practically yelling, "This is me, take it or leave it!"

He's already cleaned his apartment five times. He would do it again, if he didn't already know that the apartment is literally spotless at this point. As in, Sakusa could eat off the floor and be totally fine (not that he _would,_ but y'know, just saying).

The clock hits midnight, officially making it Friday. Atsumu is about to go to bed, resigning himself to yet another night of restless sleep, when someone bangs on his door.

The last time someone was at the door and Atsumu wasn't expecting it, he got stabbed with a knife and almost died (well, almost died _permanently)_. But in this newer apartment with its upgraded security, four days since his novel's debut and not a single word from the person who matters to him the most, Atsumu is completely certain that he knows who is at his door this time.

"Omi-kun, yer here pretty late—" he starts, swinging the door open.

He falters when Sakusa glares at him underneath the white baseball cap covering his curly hair. "You made me cry, you _fucking asshole,"_ Sakusa snarls behind his face mask.

Atsumu has only a split-second to wonder if he's about to get his heart shattered into a million pieces when Sakusa shoves him _hard._ He lets out an embarrassingly loud yelp as he falls backwards, arms flailing wildly. Sakusa falls with him, one hand cradling the back of Atsumu's head so that he doesn't crack his skull open on the hardwood floor. The impact still winds him, but what really knocks the wind out of his lungs is seeing Sakusa willingly being on top of him, touching him with his bare hands, long lean legs caging him in. The baseball cap falls to the floor, releasing tousled waves of black hair that fall into Sakusa’s handsome face. This close, Atsumu can count each individual eyelash, and get lost in Sakusa's eyes, which aren't actually as black as they appear at first glance, but a very dark gray, with little flecks of silver in the iris. He’s still the most beautiful thing that Atsumu has ever seen.

"Omi-kun…?" he whispers, not daring to speak louder. The door swings shut with a soft click behind them, making this a truly private moment.

"You made me cry," Sakusa repeats, softer this time, "now take responsibility."

Atsumu can only stare as Sakusa unhooks his face mask and throws it aside, revealing his perfectly straight nose and perfect mouth and perfect bow-shaped lips and—

_Oh._

With one hand cradling Atsumu’s head and the other tilting his chin up, they meet at last.

Sakusa kisses like a thunderstorm, wild and free, unpredictable, and full of violent passion. Atsumu has to close his eyes because he feels the tears coming and he can’t stop them from falling. The kiss is warm, transitioning into an open-mouthed one with a hint of teeth, but Sakusa handles him with a gentleness that he doesn't expect. He can feel the depth of Sakusa’s affection for him all the way down to his bones.

It’s perfect.

After what seems like an eternity, Sakusa pulls back. Atsumu struggles to open his eyes, his vision blurry with tears. “Why are you crying?” Sakusa asks, thumbing the tears away without once showing an ounce of disgust. “Was it that bad?”

“No,” Atsumu hiccups, crying even more. “I’m just so… ’m really happy right now, Kiyoomi.” He sniffles, both hands coming up to try to stem the flow of tears. He peeks up shyly, smiling through the last of his crying. “Does this mean that yer mine now?”

Sakusa smiles, the hard lines of his face softening as he looks at Atsumu. “Yeah,” he says, bending back down to kiss Atsumu again. “I’m yours.”

Atsumu beams.

One kiss turns into two, which turns into three, four, five. Atsumu snakes a hand through Sakusa’s hair, which feels just as soft as it looks. He hooks his hand behind the nape of the other man’s neck to bring him closer, deepening their kisses until they meld together so much that it’s hard to tell where one begins and the other ends.

“Room,” Atsumu gasps, urging Sakusa up despite having Sakusa’s mouth attached to his neck.

“It better be clean,” Sakusa mutters into his skin.

“Ya better believe it is after I cleaned this place five times in a row for ya,” Atsumu snarks back, grinning as Sakusa muffles a laugh into the hollow of his throat. “Now c’mon.”

They stumble into the bedroom, discarding clothing on the floor without a care. Atsumu’s back hits the bed first, and then they’re falling again. Sakusa wastes no time reattaching himself to Atsumu, mouthing along his jutting collarbones and tracing his spindly fingers over Atsumu’s broad shoulders. In return, Atsumu slides his hands over pale skin, mapping the moles on Sakusa’s body like they’re constellations, and slots his hips between Sakusa’s legs like they were made to fit there. They press into one another like they’re desperate; like they’re starved for touch and they are each other’s oasis in the desert. And when Sakusa finally slides into him, Atsumu holds onto him as best he can and doesn’t let go. He cries Sakusa’s name again and again into sweat-soaked skin, letting the fire in his belly build and build, consuming him whole until not even embers are left afterwards.

Needless to say, neither of them get much sleep that night, or the next night, or the night after that.

It’s taken a long time for them to get here, from the dinner party three years ago where Sakusa had seemed to despise Atsumu’s very existence, to the near-fatal stabbing a little over a year ago that nearly took Atsumu’s life and the fight with Osamu that followed, to now, but they made it. Atsumu has spent hundreds of hours chasing after his crush, first hoping to befriend him, then hoping that Sakusa will one day return his affections. He’s sent him thousands of text messages, from the silly and mundane to the more serious, thought-provoking ones. He’s even taken several months to painstakingly pen a story that would make even the most stoic man weep like a newborn babe, a final push to bare his feelings in one fell swoop and offer one last olive branch from a drowning man.

An olive branch that is taken at long last.

Atsumu smoothes back Sakusa’s damp curls, both of them laying warm and pliant underneath the blankets, their bodies freshly cleaned and tucked together on the king-size mattress. Sakusa dozes lightly, one arm flung possessively over Atsumu’s hip. A far cry from their first time sharing a bed together all those months ago.

Atsumu parts Sakusa’s curls and presses a kiss to his forehead, right on top of the two moles over his eyebrow. “I love ya, Kiyoomi,” he breathes, settling in.

Sakusa blinks one sleepy eye open and murmurs back, “Yeah. Love you too, ‘Tsumu.”

They fall asleep like that: hand in hand, heart to heart, a home within a home.

* * *

**_this sexy beast is off the market_ 👬❤✔ ** **@official_miyaatsumu | 30 min**

**[Image]**

_[A selfie taken by Atsumu, camera looking down and capturing Sakusa napping with his head in Atsumu’s lap. Atsumu’s other hand is running through the thick curls of inky hair on Sakusa’s head. Both are clad in nothing but bathrobes. Atsumu’s is gaping open at the chest to reveal a collection of teeth marks and purple bruises littering his throat and collarbones. Atsumu is smiling sleepily at the camera.]_

How to start yer morning off right: 1) have a sexy boyfriend, 2) be madly in love with said boyfriend.

10.9k comments 98.2k retweets 309.3 likes

> **_the thirst is real for this one_ 🍙✔** **@onigiri_miya | 28 min**
> 
> @official_miyaatsumu FINALLY!! I was gettin’ tired o’ yer pining
> 
> 8.1k comments 86.7k retweets 190.8k likes
> 
> **_HOOT me up_** 🦉✔ **@bkbeam | 27 min**
> 
> AW YEEEEAHHH, CONGRATS TSUM-TSUM & SAKKUN!!!!
> 
> 5.6k comments 34.3k retweets 115.0k likes
> 
> **_king of UFOs_** 🛸✔ **@therealnerdkawa | 24 min**
> 
> Someone had an exciting night, I see ;)
> 
> 2.4k comments 18.2k retweets 75.2k likes
>
>> **_the glorified babysitter_ ✔** **@iwaizumihajime | 23 min**
>> 
>> @therealnerdkawa shut up kusokawa
>> 
>> 90 comments 555 retweets 1.3k likes
>> 
>> **_king of UFOs_ 🛸✔** **@therealnerdkawa | 23 min**
>> 
>> :( but iwa-chaaaaaan
>> 
>> 78 comments 521 retweets 1k likes
> 
> **_schrodinger’s cat_** 🐈✔ **@kurooster | 25 min**
> 
> Can’t believe you did it in 3 years, it took me more than 10 to get Kenma to say yes
> 
> 3.1k comments 22.8k retweets 86.5k likes
>
>> **_get your gayme on_ ✔** **@officialkodzuken | 19 min**
>> 
>> we met when we were seven kuroo
>> 
>> 437 comments 1.4k retweets 3.4k likes
> 
> **_i am sunshine boi_** 🌞🏐✔ **@nin_nin_shouyou | 21 min**
> 
> Congrats Atsumu-san and Sakusa-san!!
> 
> 2.5k comments 14.3k retweets 54.9k likes
> 
> **_an editor in need is an editor indeed_** 📚✔ **@akaashi_k | 20 min**
> 
> Congratulations, I hope you two find happiness together.
> 
> 2.2k comments 13.7k retweets 50.1k likes
> 
> **_that one guy_** ✔ **@sunarinbby | 17 min**
> 
> I would like to claim #sakuatsu supremacy here
> 
> 1.1k comments 10.2k retweets 24.6k likes
> 
> **_i no speak this country language_ ✔** **@ojiroaran | 15 min**
> 
> I’m proud of you, Atsumu!
> 
> 884 comments 7.1k retweets 11.5k likes
> 
> **_team liberty_** ✔ **@komorikat | 11 min**
> 
> I’m not crying, a volleyball just hit me in the face
> 
> 1.5k comments 19.4k retweets 45.8k likes
>
>> **_i am sunshine boi_ 🌞🏐✔** **@nin_nin_shouyou | 10 min**
>> 
>> @komorikat ME TOO
>> 
>> 189 comments 753 retweets 3.1k likes
>> 
>> **_for the love of rice_ ✔** **@kitarice | 9 min**
>> 
>> I'm not crying either, there must be rice in my eyes
>> 
>> 63 comments 425 retweets 960 likes
>> 
>> **_power curry is the only curry_** ✔ **@kageyama.tobio | 9 min**
>> 
>> @komorikat don’t receive with your face then
>> 
>> 60 comments 416 retweets 949 likes
>>
>>> **_team liberty_ ✔** **@komorikat | 8 min**
>>> 
>>> @kageyama.tobio i’m not talking about an actual volleyball!
>>> 
>>> 51 comments 377 retweets 801 likes
>> 
>> **_small giant supremacy_ 👊✔** **@hoshiumi_k | 5 min**
>> 
>> @nin_nin_shouyou wow ur bf is dumb HAHAHA
>> 
>> 30 comments 100 retweets 346 likes
> 
> **_history has its eyes on you_ ✔** **@officialushiwaka | 3 min**
> 
> “The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched—they must be felt with the heart.” -Helen Keller. An apt quote if I may say.
> 
> 21 comments 83 retweets 199 likes
>
>> **_the glorified babysitter_ ✔** **@iwaizumihajime | just now**
>> 
>> @officialushiwaka great quote, could apply to On Love and Onigiri too
>> 
>> 1 comment 0 retweets 4 likes

Atsumu closes the Twitter app on his phone and places it face-down on the nightstand. He continues to pet Sakusa’s head, reveling in the feeling of being happy and content. Whether things will stay like this in the future, he doesn't know, nor is he going to worry about it. He has everything he wants right here, right now, in present time.

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.”

Looking down at Sakusa, who is watching him softly, Atsumu thinks that the future could belong to them, too.

* * *

"Sooo, what didja think of the book, Omi-Omi?"

Sakusa rolls his eyes, flicking Atsumu on the forehead. He rears back with an offended screech, but quiets down, pouting, as Sakusa chuckles and leans in to press a kiss to the spot. "What do you think, idiot?"

**{ On Love and Onigiri: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ }**

**Author's Note:**

> Why are they quoting English instead of Japanese sayings, because I'm American and that's all I know lol
> 
> For anyone who didn't understand the "Atsu-mu" joke Kuroo made at the party: canonically 'atsumu' means 'urge to eat' and 'osamu' means 'to rule/govern', but if you take 'atsu' and 'samu', they are the shortened forms of 'atsui' (hot) and 'samui' (cold). So when Kuroo says Atsumu can warm Sakusa up because he's Atsu-mu, he's making a pun about Atsumu being the 'hot' twin.
> 
> Please leave a comment before you go~


End file.
